“Hi, mister!” cried Chick, trying to keep beside the other, “keep with me an’ we’ll find Little Hickory.” Then he added to the amused onlookers; “Of all the dratted old fools I ever see he’s the lunkinest!” Meanwhile Rob had got inside of the building, and, regardless of the curious spectators gathered on either hand, he pushed his way forward until he had reached a small court or opening before a high desk, above which the gray head of the stern recorder could be seen, as he looked calmly down at a frail girl, trembling from head to foot, as she stood beside the iron railing in grief and terror. She was clad in a ragged dress, without any covering for her head. Though her features were bathed in tears, her brown hair had been cut short, and there was a general appearance of despair in her looks and actions, she was an attractive girl. At sight of her Rob stopped suddenly in his impetuous advance, crying, in a voice heard in every part of the old building: “Joey! I have found you at last. Have courage! Ragged Rob is still your friend, if every one else in the world turns against you.” CHAPTER V. SURPRISE UPON SURPRISE. At sound of Ragged Rob’s ringing words every gaze in the spacious room, even to that of the grim recorder, was turned upon the fearless young bootblack, who, despite his grimy features and soiled, ragged clothes, looked every inch a hero. One countenance lightened at sight of him, and she at the prisoner’s bar cried, in a joyful voice: “Oh, Rob!” and then she seemed about to fall, as if the glad appearance of her friend had overcome her. But she quickly mastered her weakness, saying, in a supplicating tone: “Save me from the workshop, Rob! Mother does so need me.” “I will, Joey; never fear. What is the charge, Mister Recorder?” “Vagrancy, coupled with trying to pass bad money and being generally a suspicious character,” replied the recorder, recovering his usual stern exterior. “There’s not a word of truth in it!” exclaimed Rob, impetuously. “Order!” commanded the recorder, and a burly officer moved toward the excited youth, ready to seize him at the word from his superior. A murmur of excitement ran over the throng of spectators. “Has she been sentenced?” asked Rob, recovering his self-possession, and speaking with a calmness he was far from feeling. “Blackwell’s--thirty days,” was the stern reply. “It must not be!” declared Rob, boldly. “She cannot be guilty, Mister Recorder. Is there no way to save her from the workhouse?” “As this seems to be her first offense, if there was some one to answer for her, she might be let off this time,” and though it may have been his imagination, Rob thought the recorder said this gladly. At any rate, it gave him hope, and he said, promptly: “I will answer for her, Mister Recorder.” “That could hardly be, as you are but a minor, as well as unknown to us.” Rob’s countenance fell; but at that moment a loud voice from the rear of the courtroom exclaimed: