pray; he needed the touch of human sympathy.

All at once he started. There was one, just one who would understand.
But how could he reach her? The women in the room below barred his exit
that way. A heavy vine clambered over the house, and its sturdy branches
swayed under Andy's window. No one would miss him, and to climb down the
vine was an easy task even for a lame boy.

Cautiously he began the descent, and in a few minutes was on the ground.
He had managed to carry his crutch under his arm, and now, panting, but
triumphant, he went quickly on. A new courage was rising within him--a
courage that often comes with despair and indifference to consequences.
No matter what happened, he would seek his only friend.

He took to the stream bed. It was quite dry, and the bushes grew close.
No prowling Britisher would be likely to challenge him there. Ah! if
poor Sam White had been as wise. Andy's face grew paler as he
remembered. For a half-mile he pattered on, then the moon, rising clear
and silvery, showed a little house near by the stream bed and almost
hidden by vines.

Everything about the house was dark and still. Andy paused and wondered
if he had a right to disturb even his one true friend. Noiselessly, he
drew near, and went around to the back of the house. Something startled
him.

"Mother!" It was a young, sweet voice, and it came from the shadow of
the little porch.

"'Tis I, Ruth!" faltered Andy.