"
"Oh, I was sure you'd know what to do. It was your best chance."
"Then will you help me, now?" The old crone considered, and her face
grew sharp and cunning in its look.
"What can I do?"
"Tell me, in God's name, where I stand. What is this dreadful mystery?
Who is this boy? Why is he hidden, and why do these people want to know
where he is? Who is behind me, and who threatens me with death?"
I burst out with these questions passionately, almost frantically. This
was the first time I had had chance to demand them of another human
being.
Mother Borton gave me a leer.
"I wish I could tell you, my dear, but I don't know."
"You mean you dare not tell me," I said boldly. "You have done me a
great service, but if I am to save myself from the dangers that
surround me I must know more. Can't you see that?"
"Yes," she nodded. "You're in a hard row of stumps, young man."
"And you can help me."
"Well, I will," she said, suddenly softening again. "I took a shine to
you when you came in, an' I says to myself, 'I'll save that young
fellow,' an' I done it. And I'll do more. Mr. Wilton was a fine
gentleman, an' I'd do something, if I could, to git even with those
murderin' gutter-pickers that laid him out on a slab."
She hesitated, and looked around at the shadows thrown by the
flickering candle.
"Well?" I said impatiently. "Who is the boy, and where is he?"
"Never you mind that, young fellow. Let me tell you what I know.
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