"Anybody'd know ye after _that_ blow out," she says with a grin. "Ye're the same old sixpence, Franzy; let's have a look at ye." She lays a hand upon his arm, and he turns back half reluctantly. "Wot's struck ye?" he asks, resentfully. "Maybe it's occurred to ye that I may have got a bit o' money about me. If that's yer lay, ye're left. An' I may as well tell ye that if ye can't help a fellow to a little of the necessary, there's no good o' my stoppin' here." And shaking her hand from his arm, this affectionate Prodigal strides past her, and peers eagerly into the broken glass upon the table. "Empty, of course," he mutters; "I might a-known it." Then his eyes fix upon the tin cup containing Mamma's choice brew. Striding forward, he seizes it, smells its contents, and with a grunt of satisfaction raises it to his lips. In an instant Mamma Francoise springs forward, and seizing the cup with both hands, holds it away from his mouth. "Stop, Franz! you mustn't drink that." A string of oaths rolls from his lips, and he wrests the cup from her hand, spilling half its contents in the act. "Stop, Franzy!" calls Papa, excitedly; "that stuff won't be good for you." And hurrying to one of the pallets he draws from under it a bottle, which, together with the broken tumbler, he presents to the angry young man. "Here, Franzy, drink this." But the Prodigal shakes off his father's persuasive touch, and again seizes upon the cup of warm liquor. "Franzy!" cries Papa, in a tremor of fear, "drop that; _it's doctored_." The Prodigal moves a step backward, and slowly lowers the cup. "Oh!" he ejaculates, musingly, "it's doctored! Wot are ye up to, old uns? If it's a doctored dose, I don't want it--not yet. Come, sit down and let's talk matters over." Taking the bottle from the old man's hand, he goes back to the table, seats himself on the chair recently occupied by the elder Francoise, motioning that worthy to occupy the only remaining chair. And courtesy being an unknown quality among the Francoises, the three are soon grouped about the table, Mamma accommodating herself as best she can. "Franzy," says Mamma, after refreshing herself from the bottle, which goes from hand to hand; "before you worry any more about that medicine, an' who it's for, tell us how came yer out?" "How came I out? Easy enough. There was three of us; we worked for it five months ahead, and one of us had a pal outside. Pass up the bottle, old top, while I explain." Having refreshed himself from the bottle, he begins his story, interluding it with innumerable oaths, and allotting to himself a full share of the daring and dangerous feats accompanying the escape. "It's plain that ye ain't read the papers," he concludes. "Ye'd know all about it, if ye had." CHAPTER XXVII. FRANZY FRANCOISE'S GALLANTRY. While this reunited family, warmed to cordiality by the contents of the aforementioned bottle, exchanged confidences, the evening wore on.