People were arising, also, and Rodney Nelson was among those who were up and dressed very early. He had business on his hands, now, and he stepped right out of his own room and across the entry, into what he was beginning to call “the store.” It did indeed contain a great deal of counter and some shelving, but nothing as yet, that looked like a stock of goods. “We’ll have some, I guess,” said Rodney. “I’ll go out and take a look at the garden. Nothing has sprouted yet, but lettuce and radishes, but it’s going to be the bulliest kind of garden.” Downstairs he went, and his mother was busy around the stove when he passed through the kitchen. Somebody seemed to be calling him, around the corner of the house. He heard a loud: “Ba a-a-beh?” like a question. “Guess he’d like some breakfast,” said Rodney, as he stepped forward. There was Billy, looking down from the edge of the sidewalk, but it was not the goat that gave Rodney such a start of surprise. Right before him stood a boy of about his own age and size, dressed from head to foot in dark, grey cloth. He seemed a healthy enough boy, but just now his face was very pale. He had been standing, for Rodney had seen him, close to the wall, where the house came against it, as if he were hiding. On the sidewalk above, and less than a hundred yards away, a policeman was walking leisurely along toward the Nelson place. “Hullo!” said Rodney. “Who are you? What are you down here for?” It was all right to question him, but the stranger’s face flushed suddenly and he breathed a long, choking kind of breath, before he exclaimed: “I say, were you ever in prison?” His voice had a husky, despairing tone. “No, I never was!” replied Rodney, with strong emphasis. “Was you?” “Yes, I was,” came promptly back. “My name’s Jim Harris, and I didn’t do a thing. Didn’t steal a cent. But I’ve been in the House of Refuge for a good deal more’n a year----” “And you got out?” shouted Rodney, enthusiastically. “Hurrah!” “I got out last night,” said Jim, “and they’re after me, now----” “Rodney!” exclaimed an excited voice behind him. “Don’t you let them get him! I saw him, from our house, and I came over to tell you. If you do let them get him!” “Of course I won’t, Millie,” said Rodney, “but he must come right into the house. They’d know him, right away, by his rig.” Millie was thinking with all her might, and her eyes were dancing their liveliest. “Rod!” she said. “Take him in! Get him something to eat. I’ll go and get some of Tom’s old clothes. Mother’d let him have ’em all, before she’d see him sent to prison again. O, dear me! It was awful! And he didn’t do anything to be sent there for, either.” “I guess it was awful----” said Rodney, but she interrupted him: “I’ll be back as quick as I can. Besides, I want to know how he got out. He must be real hungry----” and away she went.