CHAPTER III.
A DASH FOR FREEDOM.
"Here, you young rascal, I'll teach you to meddle with my tools! What have you done with my knife?"
"I haven't had it," said Dick, looking up from the stocking he was awkwardly trying to darn by the firelight.
His hands were quite healed now, but still stiff and scarred from the burns, though the doctor had said the marks would get less as time went on.
"None of your tales, now. Tim said he saw you with it to-day. Give it me back this minute, or you shall have a dressing you won't forget in a hurry!"
"But I haven't seen it even," cried Dick earnestly. "Tim must have made a mistake."
"Oh, of course! Putting it on Tim, as usual," sneered Mrs. Fowley. "Your impudence is getting past bearing. Just go and get the knife this minute."
Dick stood up uncertainly, not knowing how to prove his innocence.