There were two stout sticks or clubs lying on the ground at their feet. They stooped, picked them up, and ran to the house. A glance showed that one of the windows on the north side had been raised.
The window sill was low. Pausing a moment before springing over it into the room, they looked in and this was what they saw:
The farmer lay half-prostrate on the floor, half supporting himself by a chair, which he had mechanically grasped as he was forced downward. Over him stood a ruffianly looking tramp, whom Phil remembered to have seen about the streets during the day, with a stick uplifted. He had not heard the approach of the boys.
“Give me two hundred dollars, and I’ll go,” he said to the man at his feet.
“I cannot do it. I haven’t got as much here.”
“That’s a lie!” said the other coarsely. “I heard all about you to-day. You’re a miser, and you’ve got no end of money stowed away here. Get it for me, quick, or I’ll dash your brains out.”
Just then the prostrate farmer saw what the tramp could not see, his back being turned to the window, the faces of the two boys looking through the window. Fresh courage came to him. Single-handed, and taken at advantage, he was no match for the ruffian who had entered his house; but with these two young auxiliaries he felt that all was not lost.
CHAPTER XVII.
A REFORMED BURGLAR.
“What do you say!” demanded the tramp impatiently. “Speak quick! I can’t stay here all night.”
“Let me up, and I’ll see if I can find the money for you.”