n what a contemptible plight was he! What would little
Master John think of his absence; and how much would be sold at his little
store before night? These reflections only enhanced the agony of his
imprisonment; so wrapping himself tightly in the folds of his cloak, he
crouched down in a corner of the closet, and soon fell fast asleep.

Mr. Hardesty slept on until night-fall. So soon as he realized his
situation, he determined to be a prisoner no longer, but to emerge from
his confinement, whatever might be the danger of an exposure. Fortunately
for him, the room was deserted. The ladies had not yet returned from their
visit. Mr. Hardesty approached the window and found it quite dark without.
He had little time left for deliberation, for he heard the sound of a key
turning in the street-door lock, and recognized the well-known voice of
Miss Sidebottom; so hoisting the window, he crawled rapidly through it,
and leaped on the ground.

Mr. Hardesty breathed once more like a freeman; and muttering deep
anathemas against the inhospitable house and all its inmates, he stole
quietly along, with his bootless feet buried at each step in the snow.
Leaving the more frequented streets, and worming his way through bypaths
and dark alleys; now turning a corner, under the direful apprehension of
meeting some acquaintance, and now darting this way or that to avoid a
random snow-ball, he pursued his painful way until he reached home, where
he knocked and was admitted by Master John.

The grocer bolted in, rushed into his counting-room, and throwing off his
cloak, stared wildly at the bewildered boy. 'What do you think of that,
John?' pointing to his denuded extremities. 'How does that become your old
master, Sir?'

Master John, frightened partly at the anomalous appearance of the grocer,
and partly at the sternness of his voice and manner, started back to the
remotest corner of the room, but said nothing.

'What's the matter now, you little fool?' said his master. 'Are you afraid
of old Tom Hardesty? If you are, you needn't be; nobody need be afraid of
such an old coward as I am--darned if they need!' And feeling that he was
growing melancholy, he determined to subdue the propensity, and to that
end commenced cutting the complicated figure entitled a pigeon-wing. This
exhilarating sport soon restored the grocer's good humor, and he laughed
heartily and made such a racket altogether, that the boy gradually
approached him to inquire