“This is not your money,” said Dick, dropping the coins into the bag and holding it behind him.
“I’ll see whether you’ll give it to me or not!”
As Silas Maslin sprang at him Dick thrust the bag into his pocket and proceeded to defend himself as well as he could.
This would not have been an easy job, for Mr. Maslin was strong and wiry; but chance aided the boy.
The storekeeper’s foot caught on a rent in the rag-carpet, he pitched forward and struck his forehead against a corner of Dick’s box with such force as to cause a nasty wound that stretched him, stunned, on the floor.
CHAPTER III.
LEAVING HIS HOME.
At that moment Mrs. Maslin appeared in the doorway and, perceiving her husband stretched motionless on the floor with the blood streaming down his face and Dick Armstrong standing over him in an attitude of defence with his fists half clenched—for the mishap which had overtaken Silas Maslin had been so sudden that he stood quite stupefied with surprise—she conceived the idea that the boy had struck down her lord and master, perhaps killed him.
“Help! Help! Murder!” she screamed loudly, dashing open the window and making the air ring with her shill cry.
Huskins, the hired man, was coming into the yard from the fields.