“Where are they?”

“In my room, at Mr. Holden’s house.”

“How do you expect to get them?”

“Mrs. Bickford, the housekeeper, is a friend of mine.  I thought I might go there to-night, and attract her attention without rousing Mr. Holden.  She would get them for me.”

“Good!  I will go with you.”

“Will you?” asked Herbert, gladly.

He had felt a little doubt as to the result of his expedition, as, if Mr. Holden should be awake and start in pursuit, he would stand a good chance of being captured, which, above all things, he most dreaded.  But with so able an auxiliary as Ralph, he knew he could bid easy defiance to Abner, however much the latter might desire to molest him.

“Yes, I will stand by you, and you shall share my cabin with me as long as you like.  You are not afraid of me?”

“No,” said Herbert, quickly.

Ralph looked kindly at him.

“Some of the children run from me,” he said.  “It is not strange, perhaps, for I look savage, I suppose, but you do well to trust me.  I will be your friend, and that is something I have not said to any living being for years.  I like your face.  It is brave and true.”

“Thank you for your favorable opinion, Mr.—­” Here Herbert paused in uncertainty, for he had never heard Ralph’s surname.

“Call me Ralph.  I have done with the title of \ civilization.  Call me Ralph.  That will suit me best.”

“Thank you for your kindness, then, Ralph.”

“What is your name?”

“Herbert—­Herbert Mason.”

“Then, Herbert, I think you must be hungry.  Have you eaten your dinner?”

“No,” said Herbert.

“Then you shall share mine.  My food is of the plainest, but such as it is, you are welcome.  Come in.”

Herbert entered the cabin.  The only table was a plank supported at each end by a barrel.  From a box in the corner Ralph drew out some corn-bread and some cold meat.  He took a tin measure, and, going out of the cabin, filled it with water from a brook near by.  This he placed on the rude table.

“All is ready,” he said.  “Take and eat, if my food is not too rude.”

Herbert did eat, and with appetite.  He was a growing boy, whose appetite seldom failed him, and he had been working hard since breakfast, which he had taken at six, while it was now one o’clock.  No wonder he was hungry.

Ralph looked on with approval.

“You are the first that has shared my meal for many a long day,” he said.  “Day after day, and year after year, I have broken my fast alone, but it seems pleasant, after all,” he said, musingly.  “Men are treacherous and deceitful, but you,” he said, resting his glance on the frank, ingenuous face of his youthful guest, “you must be honest and true, or I am greatly deceived.”

“I hope you will find me so,” said Herbert, interested more and more in the rough-looking recluse, about whose life he suspected there must be some sad secret, of which the world knew nothing.