“It is quite natural,” said my father, “and strengthens my ideas. He thought his companion was going to be hurt.” As my father spoke, he moved toward the boy.
“Don’t go anigh him without a stick, sir,” said Morgan, hastily.
My father did not notice the remark, but turned to me.
“Be on your guard, George,” he said; “but be firm, and I think the poor fellow will understand what you are going to do. Take the screwdriver, and try if you can unfasten the boy’s anklets first.”
I obeyed, and advanced to the boy, whose aspect was rather startling; but I went down on my knees, and before he could fly at me I caught quickly hold of the chain which connected his legs.
That made him pause for a moment, and look down sharply to see what I was going to do. He seemed to have some idea directly; and as luck would have it, the little square hole that was used to turn the screw was toward me, the screwdriver went in, and it turned so easily that I was able to open the filthy, rusty shackle, and set one leg free.
The boy’s head moved like that of a bird, as he looked first at his foot and then at me, and he stood quite still now, as I unscrewed the second anklet and took it off.
“Throw the chains into the river,” said my father.
“No, no,” cried Morgan; “they may come in handy.”
“For you?” said my father, with a curious smile.