"Poor fellow, indeed!" sniffed Mrs. Wilson. "What does he mean by getting into a respectable house through a window? He'll end up his days in jail."
"Does—does he look desperate?" inquired Silas Wilson. "Would he be likely to hurt me or Mis' Wilson?"
"No; he says he would like to have you come up."
"Well, of all things!" ejaculated Sophia.
"I've got something to tell you," went on Bert, turning from one to the other. "He wants me to tell you before you go up. It is some one whom you both know, though you haven't seen him for a good many years."
Silas did not understand, but a mother's instincts were quicker.
"Is it our son—Phineas?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Bert; "it is your son."
"Who stole fifty dollars from his father, and crept away like a thief in the night!" exclaimed the farmer indignantly.
"He has suffered, and is very weak," rejoined Bert. "He hadn't had anything to eat for twenty-four hours, and I may as well tell you that it was I who came downstairs in the night and took up the bread and milk to him."