Dick Lionheart | Page 5

and quarrelling at home, and
Paddy always had a welcome for him, while bright-eyed Pat quickly
learned to know his owner.
He grew very fast, and was so full of fun and frolic, that there were no
dull times when he was awake.
And Paddy, who seemed to know all about dogs and their doings,
suggested that he should be taught tricks "because of his knowingness."
And teaching him to beg and sing and shake hands, filled many a merry
half-hour that autumn, and the Fowley's would scarcely have known
Dick, if they had seen him there.
When the examination day came he managed to get through
successfully, though his paperwork had to have allowances made for its
deficiencies.
But at home all the effects of Susy's rescue had passed away, and Dick
was more scolded and starved than ever before.
CHAPTER III.
A DASH FOR FREEDOM.
"Here, you young rascal, I'll teach you to meddle with my tools! What
have you done with my knife?"
"I haven't had it," said Dick, looking up from the stocking he was
awkwardly trying to darn by the firelight.

His hands were quite healed now, but still stiff and scarred from the
burns, though the doctor had said the marks would get less as time went
on.
"None of your tales, now. Tim said he saw you with it to-day. Give it
me back this minute, or you shall have a dressing you won't forget in a
hurry!"
"But I haven't seen it even," cried Dick earnestly. "Tim must have made
a mistake."
"Oh, of course! Putting it on Tim, as usual," sneered Mrs. Fowley.
"Your impudence is getting past bearing. Just go and get the knife this
minute."
Dick stood up uncertainly, not knowing how to prove his innocence.
Everything that went wrong in that ill-managed household, was always
in some mysterious way due to his shortcomings, but nothing had ever
yet made him tell a lie, and in their hearts they knew it.
"I haven't seen it," he repeated, and there was absolute truth in the clear
brown eyes, and Mrs. Fowley shifted her own uneasily as he looked at
her.
But she said aloud, "He wants something to break down his spirit,
Fowley, he ain't half so biddable as he used to be, and now he's passed
the standard and can go to work, we shan't live for his pride and
upstartness."
Now, Dick had not once refused to obey her commands, but since
Paddy had told him about his uncle, and the possibility of going next
year to find him and independence at the same time, the new hope had
given him a bolder bearing.
There were times when he quite forgot to be afraid of blows and short
rations, and when sharp words passed over him almost unheard. He was
so sure the way would be made plain for him, and that his bondage

would soon be at an end.
"Impudent, is he?" said Fowley, with an ugly scowl on his face, as he
turned to the corner where the cruel strap was hung, to be the terror of
all the children.
"I'll teach you manners, you young thief that we've kep' out of the
workhouse and supported for nothing all these years."
"Not for nothing!" said Dick, with a sudden flash of passionate
indignation. "You had all father's money and kept it, and I've worked
just like a slave besides. It's not I that am a thief."
For a moment Fowley looked confounded, while his wife turned pale
and shivered. Then, with a brutal laugh, he clutched the strap and
reached forward.
But the table was between them, and Dick had never felt more like a
Lionheart than at that moment.
"You shall never beat me again, or call me names, never!" he cried, as
he opened the door and dashed out into the November night.
There was a dense fog outside that seemed to swallow him instantly,
and by the time Fowley got to the door the boy had vanished.
"He's escaped me this time, but he shall have a double dose when I set
eyes on him again," said the man grimly, as he hung up the strap; "I'll
let him know about father's money!"
"But who could have told him?" asked his wife, in a frightened tone.
"What if he goes with his tale to the police, or to that meddling doctor,
that took such notice of him. He's never been the same boy since then."
"Police! not he, but if he should, 'mum's' the word, mind. We never had
naught but just enough to pay for the buryin'. He'll be back again, meek
enough, come bedtime, and then you can find out."
And flinging the tools back into the box, the man, who had already

drunk