When he was at last free to go home, and left the school-house, he found that poor old Sim was in the hands of his enemies. The Mystic Nine had placed him in his own dilapidated hand-cart, and were wheeling him down one of the side streets as fast as they could go, shouting and laughing at his frenzied cries of distress and the ludicrous picture he presented, as he clung to the side of the cart, the brim of his torn straw hat flapping in the wind, and an old scarf of bright scarlet silk, which he cherished as his dearest earthly possession, streaming out behind. Davy felt very sorry for the old man, but did not dare interfere. He could only wait until the boys, becoming wearied of their sport, ran the cart into a shallow pond and went off to seek other diversion. Old Sim was almost helpless with fright and exhaustion, and when Davy waded into the pond and pushed the cart out on dry land again, he threw his arms about the boy’s neck, and clung to him, sobbing and moaning like a child. It was all Davy could do to comfort and quiet him, and to persuade him to go home, so apprehensive was he that another attack would be made on him. But Davy finally succeeded in convincing him that there was no further danger, and the old man went scuffling off to the miserable shanty he called home. The next day was Saturday, and as the weather was clear and bright, Davy resolved to spend the whole morning in the woods. But his aunt found so much for him to do that it was nearly noon before he was able to get away. As usual, he divided his lunch with the birds and squirrels, and then lay down under a tree to read a book he had brought with him. But it failed to interest him, and his mind persisted in dwelling upon the unkindness with which he was so systematically treated, both at home and at school. “I wonder if it will ever be any different?” he thought, as he sprang to his feet at last. “If I only could get to the head of the grammar class just once, they might treat me better. But of course there is no use in thinking of that, for there’s no chance of it.” He strolled through the woods, his steps turning unconsciously in the direction of the secret cave. He had almost reached it, when he suddenly became aware of where he was, and started to retrace his steps, fearing the boys would come out and discover him there. But scarcely had he turned when, to his amazement, he saw old Sim Kane come rushing toward him from the direction of the cave. The old man’s face was pallid with excitement, and he was swinging his long arms, and muttering and laughing to himself in a way that made Davy’s blood run cold. “Sim! Sim! what’s the matter?” he cried. But the old man paid no attention to him, and not pausing to question him again, but sure there was trouble of some sort at the cave, Davy ran toward that secret retreat. His ears soon told him what the trouble was. The great pile of brush which concealed the entrance to the cave had been set on fire!