f his den,
threw it open, and closed it upon them with a sigh of relief, as he
said,--

"There, sit down in that old chair--gently, for the bottom's broken.
This is my own room." Then, as the poor fellow sank back heavily in the
very ancient chair, one that Waller had rescued from the lumber-room for
his own particular use, he said, "I say: I won't be above a minute.
Don't you stir. I am going downstairs to get a light."

There was no reply, and, hurriedly descending, Waller fetched candle and
stick, to return and find the "something" that he had brought in from
the forest fast asleep once more.

"Now we shall be all right," he said. "I have got some supper for you.
What, asleep again?" he continued, more gently. "Well, you had better
lie down. Here, I say, have a nap on the bed. Get up, and I'll help
you. You had better undress."

The poor fellow grasped a portion of his wishes, and rose mechanically,
reeled to the bed, and fell across it with his legs trailing upon the
floor; but a few minutes after, with his young host's help, he was
properly installed outside, dressed as he was, to sink at once into a
deep, feverish sleep.

There was no suppering that night for the stranger, who slept on,
muttering quickly at intervals, and was still sleeping when Waller stole
up to his side again and again at intervals during what seemed to be an
interminably long night; for though he pretended to go to bed, the boy
could not sleep for more than an hour at a time, and when he did it was
only to start up from some troubled dream connected with the incidents
of the past day, for he was suffering badly from a new complaint--
fugitive on the brain.

CHAPTER NINE.

IN HIDING.

"What's he doing now?" said Martha. "Isn't going to be ill, is he?"

"Ill?" said Bella, contemptuously. "Not he!"

"But he's shut up in that attic, isn't he?"

"Yes, I told you so. Got another of those whim-whams in his head, and
making a litter of some kind--skinning snakes or something that he's
caught in the woods."

"Ugh!" ejaculated cook. "If there's anything I can't abear it's them
nasty scrawmy things. Did you tell him his dinner was ready?"

"Yes, and he nearly snapped my head off."

"What does he want to be skinning snakes for?" said the cook.

"Oh, I don't know--horrid things! He's got about half a dozen up there
as he did last year; peels all the skins off, same as you do with the
eels, and then turns them inside out