What happened to Tad

by Mary E. Ropes

It was only when he was tired out, exhausted with his own violence, that he fell into a deep sleep, and then the two English boys dared to talk freely after they lay down to rest, exchanging confidences, telling their respective stories, and giving each other the sympathy which was now their only comfort.

To ensure that his little slaves did not run away from him, Renard had taken from them everything that belonged to them save the poor clothes they wore. He had sold their little possessions and pocketed the proceeds; and now he chuckled with an evil triumph as they left him in the morning, for he well knew that even if they tried to escape from the bondage in which he held them, they could not get far. Without money, or articles which they could turn into money, and also without friends—what could they do in a foreign land? Even the so-called musical instruments they carried were worthless, and no pawnbroker in his senses would have advanced ten centimes upon them.

So passed the days and weeks, and autumn merged into winter. Frost and sleet and bitter winds made the lives of the poor boys yet harder to bear.

Scantily fed, yet more scantily clothed, housed like dogs, their suffering was great, while old Foxy appeared to take a malicious pleasure in their misery, and taunted them cruelly when he saw them especially downhearted and sad.

At first Tad bore all these new troubles with a kind of dogged, stubborn patience. Even such a life as this, he told himself, was better than that he had led at home, and as he had made up his mind to rough it, rough it he would.

But after a while the growing brutality of Renard roused the lad's hatred and instinct of retaliation, and the man himself would have shrunk in startled horror, had he guessed what dark and murderous thoughts began to fill the brain of this poor, ill-used drudge of his.

But it never occurred to old Foxy that there might be danger to himself resulting from his treatment of the lads if he drove them to desperation. He had no notion of their doing anything worse than trying to run away, or possibly robbing him of food or a few sous; and if they did either of these things, he thought he knew how to deal with them.

Time went on, and now Christmas was close at hand: at least it wanted only ten days to the twenty-fifth, a festive season for many, but not for poor Phil and Tad. Poor gentle little Phil was sadder than ever now, for the great cold had killed Jacko, and the boy, who had dearly loved his little companion, grieved sorely over his loss, and clung the more closely to Tad as his only friend and sole comforter.

One day Renard and the lads were tramping along a high road, on their way to a place some miles away. Stopping to rest awhile and eat their poor dinner, they were joined by two men who were evidently known to Renard.

The newcomers, after a little talk, drew old Foxy away from the spot where the boys were seated munching their crusts and drinking cold barley coffee out of a bottle. Here the men were quite out of earshot, and a whispered conversation commenced, which seemed, from the mysterious faces and gestures of the speakers, to be of the utmost interest and importance.