As he spoke he advanced toward her, and with a spring he grasped her arm, stifling a cry with his huge right hand.
At the same moment he fell like a log upon the floor, struck down by an iron poker held in the hand of a boy of twelve, who unseen by the robber or his victim, had glided into the room from the back chamber, closely followed by a little girl of ten.
With a bound the woman sprang away from the man as he fell, while she cried in a voice of anguish:
"Oh, Will, my son, you have killed him!"
"I have but protected you, mother," was the reply of the brave boy, who stood over the prostrate form, the iron, which he had used as a weapon, still grasped in his hand.
[CHAPTER VI.—The Reward for a Convict.]
HE boy who had entered the room and dealt what appeared a death-blow to the robber, was a handsome little fellow of twelve, well-grown for his age, with an agile, athletic form, and a face that would win attention anywhere.