Now this boy had been bred among women, gentle, good women who feared, or rather loved God, and were kind to each other. Even his mother, though silent, and sometimes a little unsympathetic, was rigid in her ideas of religion, and sanctioned nothing coarse or wicked, either in speech or thought. So the boy had learned all that a delicate girl should have known; and this, added to his natural manliness, had made him far more refined and gentle than lads of his age usually are. He was not the less spirited and ambitious because of the refinement which sprang out of his home life. Real energy is, in fact, all the more effective when a clear conscience and cultivated mind directs it, both in child and man.
But what could energy avail the lad in that dreary place? He had nothing to struggle against; a vague idea that he was suspected of crime, and brought there to suffer some terrible punishment, preyed upon him, but what the charge was, or how to help himself, was beyond his power of conjecture.
Some bread, and a teacupful of dark liquid the keeper spoke of as coffee, was brought to the cell where he sat trembling and fearfully expectant. The poor boy turned his face away from this food with sick loathing. It seemed as if he could never eat or drink again.
The keeper, who was at heart a kind man, took compassion on the gentle helplessness of this poor child, and strove to comfort him with hopes of a speedy relief; but James only shook his head, and great tears rose and trembled in his eyes. He could have stood abuse bravely, but kindness melted his young heart, and tears dropped like rain from his downcast eyes while that sympathetic voice filled the dungeon. As he sat thus the shadow of another official fell across the threshold of his cell, and a loud and indifferent voice called out,
“James Laurence!”
The boy started up and followed this man into the prison yard. He had scarcely stepped upon the stone-flags, when two officers passed him, leading a woman toward the female prison. The boy saw her face, and flinging out his arms cried out,
“Mother! mother! oh, mother!”
CHAPTER LII.
THE SECOND ARREST.
Smith had acted with a stern, secret energy. Without consulting his wife, or any one but an iron-hearted detective, he had quietly arrested little James Laurence, and lodged him in the Tombs. Early the next morning, while Mrs. Laurence was busy cooking her meagre breakfast, a strange man stepped into the kitchen, boldly, as if it had been his own home, and told her to get her things, and not attempt to raise a muss about it, because it was of no use; her son was caught, and nicely caged. She was known to be his accomplice—in fact, the person who had no doubt set him on. At any rate he had a warrant against her, as a receiver, and she had better obey it just then and there. The stolen goods had been found in her out-house, and he was after the money sharp; must search the house for that, but not till she was disposed of according to law. Was she ready?
Mrs. Laurence heard all this in stern astonishment. She had been cutting bread, and stood with the knife in one hand, grasping the loaf in the other, motionless as stone.