How he hated them, this band of rascals that had
gotten his David into their clutches and were slowly but surely making
him as bad as they! His David bad? No, no! David was kind and good and
gentle to him always. David was not bad, he would not listen to their
dreadful scheme. He would refuse to help them; surely he would. His
David a thief? It was impossible. But that dreadful plan they were
discussing! "The brown house on the hill"; "to-morrow night"; and David
was promising to go with them.
Patsy shivered beneath the bedclothes and bitter tears gathered in his
eyes and trickled down the pale, sunken cheeks. The men were leaving and
David was renewing his promise to accompany the expedition to the brown
house on the hill to-morrow night. In fact, he was to act as guide to
the man appointed to commit the deed, for who, so well as David, could
show them the way to the library in which was the safe that they were
going to rob?
They had gone now and Patsy felt that David was standing beside the bed
and looking down at him. He opened his eyes and two more tears escaped,
which he hastily brushed away. Immediately David was on his knees, the
little cripple's hand clasped tenderly in his.
"What's the trouble, kid?" he questioned anxiously. "Is it the pain
that's bad to-night?"
"'Tain't the pain, Davy, 'tain't the pain at all," sobbed the child.
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