These two boys had actually been guilty of the dreadful crime of setting fire to a stable. It was used by two or three poor men for their horses and carts, which was the only means they had of making an honest living; and yet these wicked boys had tried to burn it down, just for the fun of going to a fire, and getting up a fight! There are other boys, in large cities, who will commit similar acts; but such young villains are ripe for almost any crime, and must, in all human probability, come to some dreadful end.
"Hank," said Rodney to another boy,—his real name was Henry, but Hank was his prison name,—"tell us now what you have done."
"I'll tell you nothing about it."
"What is your last name, Hank?" inquired Sam, after a few moments' pause.
"Johnson," said Hank.
"Ah! I know now what you did. I read it in the paper, just before I came in, and, somehow, I thought you was one of the larks as soon as I clapped eyes on you.
"You see, Hank and some of his gang, watching about, saw a house in Arch-street, and noticed that it was empty. The family, I suppose, had all gone to the country, and it was shut up. So, one Sunday afternoon, four of them climbed over the back gate into the yard, pried open a window-shutter, got in, and helped themselves to whatever they could lay their hands on. After dark they sneaked out at the back gate with their plunder. One of them was caught, trying to sell some of the things, and he peached, and they jugged them all. Isn't that the fact, Hank?"
"Well, it's no use lying; it was pretty much so."
"What became of the other fellows, Hank?"
"Why, their fathers or friends bailed them out, and I have no father, or anybody who cares for me. But"—and he swore a fearful oath—"if ever I catch that white-livered Jim Hulsey, who was the ringleader in the whole scheme, and got me into the scrape, and then blowed me, to save himself, I'll beat him to a mummy, I will."