Away over in one of the northern wards of the city of New York, Rod Nelson, as sound asleep as Jim, was also dreaming and he too had a stone wall to dream of. He was not trying to climb it himself, however, for he was only looking on while his bearded friend Billy walked up the side of that wall into the avenue, remarking, triumphantly: “Ba-a-a-beh!” When morning came, the usual round of activities began, everywhere. The boys in the House of Refuge dormitory dressed themselves in their rooms. Then, as the Superintendent’s assistant came and let them out, they all marched away to breakfast. Jim went with the rest, but he gave a keen, inquiring side-glance, at the lock of every door they passed. He thought he saw something worth remembering in the lock of the great, outer door of the dormitory itself. “He only turned his key in it once,” he said to himself. “I’ve seen them turn it away around three times. What does that mean? I don’t know much about locks. They say these are the best and safest kind, though.” V JIM’S PLOT FOR LIBERTY Women, like Mrs. Nelson, who go out to work for other people, have to get up early, but her first thought, and Rodney’s, was more about the door she was to go out by than even about breakfast. “I’m going right off to find Pat,” said Rodney, as he helped her through the upper side-window. Nevertheless, before setting out on that errand, he went down into the garden and took a long look at all the land which had been walled in. It might be as good as ever, for a garden, but it had a queer, shut-up appearance. “Where’s Billy?” he inquired, aloud. “Hullo. There he is, out on the avenue. How did the old rascal foot it up that wall?” There was Billy, indeed, with his toes on the very edge, and with a wisp of something green sticking out at one side of his mouth. “Greens!” exclaimed Rodney. “He can steal from a grocer’s wagon better than any other goat I know of.--We used to have a garden. Tell you what, we can make garden of our lots and all the others, too, if we can only have it ploughed. But how would a horse and plough ever get down here?” It was a pretty deep question and he gave it up, for that time. In a minute more he was upstairs and out through the window, on his errand to Pat. So far as he knew, he left the house without a living soul in it, but before he reached the next corner, the door of the little back bedroom, at the head of the stairs, went to with a sharp slam. It must have been a strong draft of air that did it, or else the door shut itself. Pat was found and a bargain was made but Rodney did not see the new door. That is, the old door that was to take the place of the window. In fact, he felt like being satisfied with almost anything. When he reached home again, he closed the window carefully behind him and went down and out for another look around at his vacant land. Hardly was he beyond the back doorstep, however, before he was hailed with: