“Oh, I’m afraid of them, Ben! I know Bern Hayden would do anything to hurt you—anything.”
“You needn’t be afraid. Roger Eliot is my friend; his father is, too, and Mr. Eliot has fully as much strength and influence in Oakdale as Lemuel Hayden.”
“That’s right,” confirmed Mrs. Jones, “and he’s lived here lots longer. Everybody knows Urian Eliot ’round these parts; an’, even if he is a rich man and rather tight and close in business dealin’s, they do say he’s honest an’ just. ’Course he’s got his enemies, same’s anybody has; but even the wust on ’em can’t point out no crooked thing he’s ever done.”
Nevertheless, it was no easy matter to calm and reassure the agitated blind boy. Presently, after they had talked for a time, Mrs. Jones lighted a small hand-lamp and gave it to Ben, saying:
“I won’t keep y’u up no longer, for I know y’u must be tired an’ want to go to bed—anyhow, I’m dead sartain your brother is plumb pegged out. But to-morrer is the day of rest, an’ y’u can sleep jest as late as y’u want to.”
Good nights were said, and the brothers mounted the narrow back stairs, Ben assisting Jerry while the little dog scrambled up behind them. When at last they were in the privacy of Ben’s room, he questioned Jerry.
“I didn’t want to ask too many things before people,” he said, “because I thought perhaps there might be something you wouldn’t care to answer; but I don’t understand how it was that I found you, tired and worn out, tramping to Oakdale. How did Uncle Asher happen to let you leave his home?”
“Uncle Asher is dead,” said Jerry.