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."

And _these_ were the companions with whom Rodney was compelled
to associate! Sometimes he shrank from them with loathing; and
sometimes he almost envied the hardihood with which they boasted
of their crimes. Had he remained in their company much longer,
who can tell to what an extent he would have been contaminated,
and how rapidly prepared for utter moral degradation and eternal
ruin?

What afterwards became of them, Rodney never knew; but they are
probably either dead,--God having said, "The wicked shall not
live out half their days,"--or else preying upon society by the
commission of more dreadful crimes, or perhaps spending long
years of life in the penitentiary, confined to hard labor and
prison fare.

One day, after he had been about two weeks in jail, Rodney took
the basin in which they had washed, and threw the water out of
the window. The grated bars prevented his seeing whether there
was any one below. He had often done so before. It had not been
forbidden. He did not intend to do any wrong.