“Oh, it’s just a little joke—a fine little joke on Cap’n Wiley. Ha! ha! He will be all fussed up when he comes out and finds you gone. To-morrow morning you can go back to him. The joke will be all over then—eh, Sam?” “Sure, Bill; it will be all over as far as we are concerned. We won’t have anything further to do with it.” Then the two ruffians laughed in a manner that made the unfortunate boy’s blood run cold. He felt sure they were scoundrels, yet why they should seek to hurt him was beyond his understanding. Once before he had been kidnapped in a similar manner, and the experience through which he passed was so terrible that the memory haunted his waking hours and troubled his dreams. He was now terrified by the thought that he must again pass through a similar experience. Yet, somehow, the suddenness of what had happened robbed him of strength to struggle, and convinced him it would be folly for him to shout for aid. The cab rolled on, turning corner after corner, and to the boy the ride seemed almost interminable. Finally it came to an end, and one of the men flung the door open as soon as the cab stopped. He sprang out and looked around. “All right,” he said. “Chuck the kid out, Sam. No one near.” The boy was thrust out by Sam, and instantly Bill caught him up, turned like a flash, and ran up the steps of a house. Even as he reached the door it opened for him, and then, for the first time, Abe uttered a cry which rang sharp and shrill, and full of unspeakable terror, along the dark block. He attempted to struggle, but his puny strength was of no avail, and a moment later the door closed heavily behind him. In the darkness of that house the boy was carried up a flight of stairs and thrust into a room. The door closed upon him, and he was alone. For some moments he stood shaking like a leaf, his legs seeming almost too weak to bear him. “What does it mean?” he breathed. “It must mean that Frank’s enemies have done this. What good could it do them to hurt me?” His only satisfaction lay in the fact that his dear fiddle was still in his possession. After a time he felt for the door and found it; but, as he expected, it remained immovable beneath his touch. There seemed to be no window to the room. “I can’t get away!” he sobbed. “I will never get away any more unless Frank finds me. He found me once and saved me. He can’t find me now!” Until he met Frank Merriwell, Abe had never heard the name of God save as an oath. He had known absolutely nothing of religion. Frank himself, a firm believer in all things good, had found time to teach the lad, and now little Abe knelt in that dark room and prayed. It was a simple prayer, but who can say it was not heard by the One to whom it was addressed?