On went the train, carrying the boys to a destination unknown to them.
All they cared for was that they were going away from Freeport and its
vindictive constable.

"How long have your folks been dead?" asked Jack, after he had settled
himself comfortably in a corner.

"About five years," was the answer. "Father and mother went about the
same time. They were poor, and I had no brothers or sisters. When I was
all alone," the boy's voice trembled a bit, "I didn't know what to do.
They wanted to send me to the poor-house, but I ran away. Then, after
knocking about a bit, I got the job with the traction engine man, until
he used me so I couldn't stand it."

"That's about my case," said Jack. "I had a brother, and he ran away
before my folks died. I guess they felt bad about him. Anyhow, mother
used to cry an awful lot. When I was left all alone I was taken care of
by some poor folks, who kept me as long as they could. Then I had to
shift for myself. I had a good many jobs, and then I thought I'd like
to be a farmer. I was sent to a place but the man wasn't very kind. He
whipped me because I made a mistake and pulled up an onion instead of a
weed. Then he beat me because I gave the horse too many oats. He never
told me how much to give. So I ran away, and I'm glad of it. I've been
cold and hungry lots of times since, but I haven't been whipped."

"I guess that old constable would have licked us if he had the chance,"
put in Mark.

"No use worrying over that. He's a good many miles away now."