“I say, were you ever in prison?” His voice had a husky, despairing tone.
“No, I never was!” replied Rodney, with strong emphasis. “Was you?”
“Yes, I was,” came promptly back. “My name’s Jim Harris, and I didn’t do a thing. Didn’t steal a cent. But I’ve been in the House of Refuge for a good deal more’n a year——”
“And you got out?” shouted Rodney, enthusiastically. “Hurrah!”
“I got out last night,” said Jim, “and they’re after me, now——”
“Rodney!” exclaimed an excited voice behind him. “Don’t you let them get him! I saw him, from our house, and I came over to tell you. If you do let them get him!”
“Of course I won’t, Millie,” said Rodney, “but he must come right into the house. They’d know him, right away, by his rig.”
Millie was thinking with all her might, and her eyes were dancing their liveliest.
“Rod!” she said. “Take him in! Get him something to eat. I’ll go and get some of Tom’s old clothes. Mother’d let him have ’em all, before she’d see him sent to prison again. O, dear me! It was awful! And he didn’t do anything to be sent there for, either.”
“I guess it was awful——” said Rodney, but she interrupted him: