Dick led him around to the back of the house and showed him the broken window.
“They sent you a letter saying your brother William in Walkhill was dead; isn’t that so?” asked the boy.
“Yes, yes; but it was false—my brother is not dead at all.”
“That was a trick to get you away from here so they might search the house during your absence.”
Then Dick told him the whole story of what he had learned at the old deserted farmhouse.
“You are a good boy—a brave boy,” said the poor old miser, shaking the lad by the hand in a pitiful way, for he appeared to have but little strength after the shock he had sustained. “If I wasn’t so very, very poor, I’d reward you.”
“Don’t worry about that,” replied Dick, with a cheerfulness that put the old man more at his ease. “If you’ll let us stay here for the rest of the night, it’s all we want.”
“You shall stay—yes, yes, you shall stay; but there isn’t anything I could give you to eat. I’m so poor I can’t buy much.”
From the appearance of both his horse as well as himself it was evident the miser didn’t squander much of his money on food of any kind.
They were both shrivelled and dried up like a pair of animated mummies.