“Thousands of dollars!” repeated Philip, in undisguised amazement. “Yes; what have you got to say about it?” demanded Temple, sharply. “I thought you were poor,” Philip couldn’t help saying. Temple paused a moment. He knew that the possession of so much money would excite surprise in others besides Philip, and he regretted his imprudence in speaking of thousands of dollars. As it was done, he must give some kind of an explanation. “So I was poor; but a rich cousin in New York died lately, and left me a large legacy. Not having any safe to put it in,” he added, with a grim smile, “I concealed it in the wood, thinking it would be safe. When I saw you and that friend of yours prowling around this morning, it crossed my mind that it was in danger; but I didn’t think you were thieves.” “We are not,” said Philip. “We know nothing about your tin box.” “That’s all very well to say. What were you doing in the wood just now?” “I only went there for a walk.” “Of course,” said Temple, with a sneer. “It’s a pleasant place for a walk, and handy to your house.” “I hope to die if I ain’t telling the truth!” said Philip, desperately. “You’ll die when your time comes, and it may come sooner than you think for,” said Temple, taking a malicious pleasure in seeing Philip turn pale and tremble in his grasp. “You wouldn’t kill me?” faltered Philip. “I don’t know what I shall do. If you tell me where the box is, I shan’t.” “But I don’t know—hope to die if I do.” “Who was that fellow with you?” demanded Temple, abruptly. “James Congreve.” “Where does he come from?” “From New York.” “If you haven’t stolen the box, he has. It lies between you.” “James wouldn’t steal it. He is a gentleman.” “So gentlemen don’t steal?” sneered Temple. “I am not sure about that. I know one thing. I’ve lost the box, and one of you has got it.” It occurred to Temple that it was more likely to be Congreve, who was older and bolder than the boy he had captured, but he was not disposed to let Philip go, nevertheless. Again Philip denied the charge, but this time Temple did not answer. At length they reached the hut, and entered. Now came the critical moment. What was this bad man going to do with him? Philip asked himself. He was dragged into the hut, and then, for the first time, his captor relaxed his grip. “Sit down there,” he said, pointing to a wooden chair, from which the paint had all worn off. Philip sat down. “Now, if you dare to stir or try to escape I’ll kill you,” said Temple, coolly. “What a blood-thirsty ruffian!” Philip thought, trembling. Temple opened the door of a closet, which was filled with a variety of articles, including a small supply of kitchen utensils.