past.

"Hold on, Jim, I take that back," he hastened to say. "It's none of my
business, and you needn't tell me anything about what you've been through."

"But I jest has tuh, 'case it's been a-burnin' in here ever so long, an'
never anybody tuh tell," and Jim slapped his hand on his breast as he
spoke.

"Oh! well, please yourself, Jim," Max observed, seeing that the confidence
would really satisfy the boy, who had evidently never known a friend in all
his life, save his wandering father.

"And, Jim," put in Bandy-legs, seriously, "just you make up your mind that
we'll never whisper a word of what you tell us to a living soul, eh, Max?"

"That's a sure thing," replied the other.

Jim fell back a little, so that he might be closer to these two splendid
friends, who were already assuming the rôle of heroes in his eyes.

"'Tain't so bad, I reckons," he started in to say. "Yuh see, dad, he never
done as they sez. Lots o' times he tells me as how sum other man he tries
tuh rob that ole farmer. But they ketched him in our camp, an' totes him
tuh the farmhouse. I heerd 'em say as how they means tuh kerry dad tuh town
an' hev him shut up, when mawnin' kims along."

The boy drew a long breath. His eyes flashed with the memory of the wrongs
that had been heaped upon his father; and Max chuckled with glee to see
that after all he had more or less "spunk" in his small body.