It is
growing dusk; the street is deserted, save by her and two sailors,
who are approaching her. They, too, are Syrians. One seems to
strike her,--it is mere pretence, however,--and she falls. The
other seizes the child, who, having been drugged, is still asleep.
A wagon is waiting near. They drive away hurriedly, their captive
under a blanket. The kidnappers make for the woods in New
Hampshire. Officers of the law drive them far. They abandon their
horse, tramping westward over trails in the wilderness, bearing the
boy in a sack of sail-cloth, open at the top. They had guns and
killed their food as they travelled. Snow came deep; by and by
game was scarce and they had grown weary of bearing the boy on
their backs. One waited in the woods with the little lad while the
other went away to some town or city for provisions. He came back,
hauling them in a little sleigh. It was much like those made for
the delight of the small boy in every land of snow. It had a box
painted red and two bobs and a little dashboard. They used it for
the transportation of boy and impedimenta. In the deep wilderness
beyond the Adirondacks they found a cave in one of the rock ledges.
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