"But how will you get to New York?" I asked. "I don't know; I would rather walk than stay at Cannondale any longer." "Haven't you written to your uncle?" asked Bob. "No; I don't know what his first name is; and Mrs. Loraine won't let me write any letters. I wrote one once, and directed it to Mr. Loraine, New York, but she burnt it up." "Do you think you could find him?" "I am sure I could. I would call on every one of that name in the city. Why, Ernest Thornton! You are going back to Cannondale!" exclaimed Kate, as she happened to glance ahead, and saw the shore not far distant. "Don't be alarmed, Miss Loraine. Just now you said I was a hero, and a smart boy, and all that sort of thing. My friend Bob Hale, here, is as smart and as much of a hero as I am, I assure you. Between us two we will do what we can for you," I interposed when she began to exhibit signs of another outbreak of emotion. "That's so!" added Bob, decidedly; and he was always ready to back up any thing I said or did. "Now keep cool, Miss Loraine," I continued. "Don't be a bit afraid, and Bob and I will see you through, if we have to stand on our heads and walk through fire and water to do it." "You are very kind, and I am very much obliged to you," replied she, with a shudder, as she glanced at the pier, a quarter of a mile off, on which Mrs. Loraine was still standing. "But don't make me go there again." "Now, Miss Loraine, you must be reasonable," said I, in the gentlest tone I could command, albeit I was not much accustomed to the refinements of young ladies' society. "It would not be right for Bob and me to carry you away from your home. People would think hard of us." "Then I don't want you to do it," she replied, in tones of resignation. "We don't know any thing about the affairs at your house." "I have told you the truth." "We do not doubt that; but you only say that Mrs. Loraine is not kind to you." "She is not." "Do you mean that she abuses you?" "I do mean that," replied Kate, with some hesitation, which evinced an unwillingness to acknowledge the fact. "What has she done to you?" "She locks me up in one of the attic rooms for weeks together," she replied, bursting into tears. "Don't cry, Kate; what does she lock you up for?" asked Bob, when I paused. "I suppose I am very naughty, sometimes, but I can't help it," sobbed she. "Then she locks you up to punish you for being naughty--does she?" "Yes." Bob looked significantly at me, as much as to say that he did not wish to have anything to do with "rescuing" a young miss who had been shut up for being naughty. "If she would only be kind to me _sometimes_, I could bear it all. If she only smiled on me even once a month, I think I should not complain. But, O, it is so terrible to be locked into your chamber, and stay there day after day for a whole week!" moaned she, with a convulsive quiver.