Part 34 (2/2)

He was dragged into the hut, and then, for the first time, his captor relaxed his grip.

”Sit down there,” he said, pointing to a wooden chair, from which the paint had all worn off.

Philip sat down.

”Now, if you dare to stir or try to escape I'll kill you,” said Temple, coolly.

”What a blood-thirsty ruffian!” Philip thought, trembling.

Temple opened the door of a closet, which was filled with a variety of articles, including a small supply of kitchen utensils.

He took out a case-knife, to the horror of poor Philip, who concluded he was to be butchered in cold blood. Still, he did not dare to leave his seat, lest his jailer's threat should be carried into execution. He was happily undeceived, however, for from the floor of the closet Temple lifted a portion of a clothesline, and with some difficulty, for the knife was dull, cut off a portion. Then he turned to Philip.

”I can't stay here to stand guard over you, boy,” he said, ”but I don't mean that you shall get away in a hurry. I think I have found a way to prevent your escaping.”

He approached the boy, and said:

”Hold out your hands.”

”What are you going to do to me, Mr. Temple?” asked Philip, nervously.

”Tie you,” answered his captor, sententiously. ”What do you suppose ropes are made for?”

”Please don't tie me,” said Philip, in dismay. ”I won't run away.”

”No, I don't think you will. Hold out your hands.”

There was no help for it. Philip, much against his will, held out his hands, and they were tied tightly around the wrists, so that the stricture was painful.

”It hurts me,” he complained.

”It would hurt your neck worse,” replied Temple.

Philip understood what he meant, and turned pale. But a ray of hope came to him in his despondency. Even if his hands were tied he might escape, and he resolved to do so as soon as Temple was at a safe distance.

His hands being tied would not prevent his walking or running, and once out of the wood he would feel comparatively safe.

He reckoned without his host, however; or, rather, he reckoned without knowing the intentions of his captor.

”There,” said Temple, when the boy's hands were tied, ”so far so good!

Now for your feet!”

Hope died once more in Philip's breast. He might escape with his hands tied, but with his feet tied it was quite another matter. In vain he protested against this second indignity. His jailor was not to be moved.

”You may as well spare your breath, boy,” he said. ”I ain't quite a fool. I'm not going to leave you free to get away as soon as my back is turned.”

So Philip's feet were tied, too, and he realized how utterly helpless he was.

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