Wizard Will, the Wonder Worker. Ingraham Prentiss
scoundrel in his face.
The woman arose quickly, and asked as firmly as she could:
"Well, sir, what do you wish here?"
"I've come on business, missus, so don't go to squealin', fer I doesn't mean ter harm yer ef yer puts up ther chink as I tells you," was the reply in a sullen voice.
The woman saw that she was in the man's power, for to scream would bring no aid, as it would scarcely be heard above the din of the city.
Her children were at school, and there was no one to call upon.
The face of the man showed his evil heart, and in dread she said:
"I have but a few dollars in the world, and would you take that?"
"I would, you bet! fer I needs money, and I'll git it, ef I has ter make trouble, so out with it."
The poor woman stepped to a little half-desk, half-table, the place where she kept the few souvenirs of the past, and took therefrom a silk purse.
Out of this she took the money, eleven dollars in all.
"Let me keep one dollar," she pleaded, adding:
"I need it so much."
"Not a copper cent, missus, so hand it over."
"Here it is, eleven dollars."
"It is not enough, for I need more."
"It is all I have."
"You've got jewellery."
"I've a little, souvenirs of my girlhood."
"Durn yer girlhood! Yer should forgit it; so hand it over."
"I will not!" she said firmly.
"Then I chokes that neck o' yours ontil yer can't preach, and takes all."
"Mercy you can have all," and she handed out a small box containing a few trinklets of little intrinsic value, but which she prized most highly.
"You've got some rings there."
"My wedding ring, and one other."
"They are worth somethin'."
"They are worth a great deal to me, for one tells me of a happy past, the other of only sorrow."
"One was given by a lover, I guesses, and t'other by your husband."
"You are right."
"Well, I wants 'em."
"No! no! no! You would not take these."
"Come, I hain't no time to lose, for I'm wanted by the perlice, and to pertect mysel', I'll jist tie you up, and put a bandage on that music-box o' yourn, so you sha'n't shout when I gets out."
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
THE 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.
He was poorly clad, yet his clothes were neat, and he had the look of one who had been reared in refinement, in spite of his humble and poverty-stamped surroundings.
Behind him, holding in her little hands her own and her brother's books, for the two had just come from school, was a little, fairy-like form of ten years.
Her face was bright, sparkling and lovely, with a look of wisdom and feeling above her years, while her attire was neat, fashionably-made, though of very cheap material, and there was a certain style about her that many a millionaire's daughter on Fifth Avenue would give much to possess.
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