PHILIP MAKES HIS ESCAPE.
It grew darker and darker in Philip’s chamber, but no one came to bring
him a light. It was assumed that he would go to bed before he required
one.
By seven o’clock the paupers had settled themselves for the night, and
when eight o’clock struck, Mr. and Mrs. Tucker sought their beds. It
was no particular trial for Joe Tucker to go to bed early, for he was
naturally a lazy man, and fond of rest; while his wife, who worked a
great deal harder than he, after being on her feet from four o’clock in
the morning, found it a welcome relief to lie down and court friendly
sleep. Zeke wasn’t always ready to go to bed. In fact, he would much
rather have gone up to the village now and then, but if he had done so
he would have had to stay out all night. There was one thing his
parents were strict about, and that was retiring at eight o’clock.
Philip, however, did not retire at that hour. It was earlier than his
usual hour for bed. Besides, he was in hopes his friend Frank would
make his appearance, and help him, though he didn’t exactly understand
how, to make his escape.
At half-past eight it was dark. The stars were out, and the moon was
just making its appearance. Philip had opened his window softly, and
was looking out, when all at once he saw a boyish figure approaching.
Could it be Frank Dunbar?
He hoped so, but in the indistinct light could not be quite certain.
The boy, whoever it might be, approached cautiously, till he stood
within fifty feet of the house.
Then Philip saw that it was indeed Frank, and his heart beat joyfully.
It was something to see a friend, even though they were separated by
what seemed to him to be an impassable gulf.
About the same time, Frank recognized his friend, in the boyish figure
at the window.
“Is that you, Phil?” he asked, in a guarded voice, yet loud enough to
be heard.
“Yes, Frank; I have been expecting you. I knew you wouldn’t desert me.”
“I should think not. I didn’t come before, because I didn’t want to be
seen by any of Tucker’s folks.”
“They are all abed now, and I hope asleep.”
“Can’t you come downstairs, and steal away?”
“No; my chamber door is locked on the outside.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Can’t you help me in any way?”
“I’ll see. Suppose you had a rope—could you swing out of the window?”
“Yes; I could fasten it to the bedstead, and fix that just against the
window.”
“Then I think I can help you. Can you catch a ball?”
“Yes; but what good will that do?”
“You’ll see. Make ready now, and don’t miss it.”
He produced a ball of common size, and after taking aim, threw it
lightly up toward Philip’s window. The first time it didn’t come within
reach. The second Philip caught it skilfully, and by the moonlight saw
that a stout piece of twine was attached to it. At the end of the twine
Frank had connected it with a clothesline which he had borrowed from
home.
“Now pull away, Phil,” urged Frank.
Philip did, and soon had the stout line in his possession.
“It will hold; it’s new and strong,” said Frank. “Father only bought it
last week. I didn’t think, then, what use we should have for it.”
Philip, however, was not afraid. He was so anxious to escape that, even
if there had been any risk to run, he would readily have incurred it
for the sake of getting away from the poor-house, in which he was
unwilling to spend a single night. He fastened one end of the rope
firmly to his bedstead, as he had proposed, then cautiously got upon
the window-sill and lowered himself, descending hand over hand till he
reached the ground.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he detached himself from the rope and
stood beside Frank Dunbar.
Just then the boys heard a second-story window open, and saw Mr.
Tucker’s head projecting from it.