"Now sit down and tell me all about it, Clip," said Bob. "So you were told my leg was broke. Who told you?"

"De two men."

"I think I know the two men. One of them brought you here. Where is the other?"

"He stayed on board the boat till we come back."

"Was there anything said about our going back?" asked Bob, in surprise.

"Yes, Massa Bob. Dey said you leg was broke, and you wanted me to come for you. De man said we would take you back with us."

"Clip," said Bob, sadly, "these men deceived you. We are in a trap."

"What's dat?"

"They have made us prisoners, and I don't dare to think what they will do next."

"Dey won't 'sassinate us?" asked Clip, who had picked up the word somewhere.

"No; but I'll tell you what I think they will do. They will take the boat down the river, and sell the grain in St. Louis, and run off with the money."

This was the conclusion to which Bob was led by Clip's story.

"We won't let 'em, Massa Bob," said Clip, in excitement.

"How shall we help it, Clip?"

"We must get out, and run away."

"I wish I knew how," said Bob.

"If we can get out, we'll take a boat to the city, and git there ahead of 'em."

Somehow Clip's words seemed to reassure Bob. Misery loves company, and the presence of his trusty friend and servant perceptibly lightened Bob's spirits.

"You are right, Clip," he said. "To-morrow we will see what we can do. We can't do anything to-night."

"Who is de little girl, Massa Bob?" asked Clip, suddenly.

"What little girl?"

"Haven't you seen her? De little girl downstairs."

"I haven't seen her. Tell me about her."

Clip described her as well as he could, and succeeded in conveying to Bob a general idea of her appearance, and that of the woman who had charge of her.

Bob listened, thoughtfully.

"You don't think the little girl was any relation to the woman, Clip?" he said.

"No, Massa Bob; no more'n you is relation to me. De girl was a little lady, and de woman was awful ugly."

"Did the little girl say anything in your hearing?"

"She asked to be taken back to her fader."

Suddenly there came into Bob's mind the story about a little girl abducted from St. Louis.

"Clip," he said, "I think the little girl has been stolen from her home. I think it is the same one we heard about the other day."

"I pity de poor girl. De ol' woman shook her, and treated her bad."

"If we could only run away from this place and take the little girl with us, it would be a capital idea. I would like to get her away from these wretches."

"I'm wid you, Massa Bob," said Clip, enthusiastically.

"Hush!" said Bob, suddenly raising his finger.

A little girl's voice was heard, and it was easy to judge that she was ascending the stairs.

Bob put his ear to the keyhole.

"Take me home to my papa!" said the poor child. "I don't want to stay here."

"I'll whip you," said a harsh voice, "if you are not good. It's time little girls were a-bed. I'm going to put you to bed, and you can sleep till morning."

"I don't want to go to bed."

There was a little scream, for the woman had slapped her.

"I'd like to get at that woman, Clip," said Bob, indignantly.

They heard the door open—the door of the room adjoining.

The partition was very thin, and it was easy to hear what was going on. Not only this, but Clip discovered an auger hole about eighteen inches above the floor, of sufficient size to enable him to look through it.

"Who was that black boy?" he heard the little girl say. "He's a funny-looking boy."

"He's come to stay here with the other boy," answered the woman, glad to find something of interest to take the place of the complaints.

"Where are they?" asked the girl.

"They are sleeping in the next room, so you need not be afraid if I go down and leave you."

"May I play with them to-morrow?"

"Yes, if you will be a good girl," said the woman, willing to promise anything.

Then there was a little pause, spent in undressing the child.

"Now, get into bed, and go to sleep as soon as you can."

"Will you take me to my papa to-morrow?"

"No," answered the woman, shortly. "Your papa wants you to stay with me."

"Won't I never see my papa again?" asked the child, almost ready to cry.

"Yes; perhaps he'll come to see you next week," answered the woman, fearing that the child might sob and compel her to remain upstairs.

"Clip," said Bob, who had taken Clip's place at the hole in the partition, "there's no doubt of it. The girl has been stolen. I wish I could go into the room, and asked her about her father and her home."

He went to the door and tried it, but it was firmly locked, and it was quite useless to try to get out.

Meanwhile, Joe and his wife were conversing downstairs.

"Joe," said the woman, "I hope I'll get rid of that brat soon. She's a heap of trouble."

"We shall be well paid," said Joe.

"Who's to pay us?" asked the woman.

"Brown. He's the man that's got charge of the job. She's got a rich father, who'll shell out liberal to get her back."

"Did he pay you anything in advance?"

"I squeezed five dollars out of him."

"Where is it, Joe?"

"Don't you wish you knew, old woman?" said Joe, with a grin. "I can take care of it."

"Half of it belongs to me."

"How do you make that out?"

"Haven't I the care of the child? It don't trouble you."

"It's all right, old lady. You won't be forgotten."

"How much more is Brown to pay you?" asked the woman, appearing dissatisfied.

"Forty-five dollars."

The woman's eyes sparkled. To her this seemed a vast sum of money.

"And how much am I to have?"

"What do you want money for?" demanded Joe, impatiently.

"I do want it, and that's enough."

"Well, I can't say yet, old lady, but maybe you'll get ten dollars."

"Altogether?"

"Of course. Ain't that enough?"

"No, it isn't. We ought to divide even."

"Pooh, you're a woman. You don't need money."

An unpleasant look came over the woman's face, but she said nothing.

"Come, old woman, I've got something that'll put you into good humor. See here!"

Joe produced from an out-of-the-way corner a suspicious-looking jug.

"Do you know what's in this?"

"What is it?" asked the woman, looking interested.

"Whisky. Get some boiling water, and I'll make you some punch. We'll make a night of it."

His wife brightened up. Evidently she did not belong to the Temperance Society, any more than her husband. She moved about the room with alacrity, and, assisted by her husband, brewed a punch which was of considerable strength. Then they put it on the table, and set about enjoying themselves.

"Here's your health, ol' woman!" said Joe, and he tried to sing a stave of an old drinking-song.

Together they caroused till a late hour, and then fell into a drunken sleep, which lasted till a late hour in the morning.

About seven o'clock the little girl woke up, and, as is usual with children, wished to be dressed at once.

"Aunt," Bob heard her say, "I want to be dressed."

But no one came at her call.

After a little waiting, she got out of bed and went downstairs, but returned in a minute or two, crying.

Bob called through the partition.

"What's the matter, little girl?"

"There's nobody to dress me. Are you the boy that came yesterday?"

"Yes. Where is the woman that put you to bed?"

"She's downstairs—she and the man. They're lying on the floor. I can't wake them up."

An idea came to Bob.

"Come to our door, little girl, and see if you can draw back the bolt. We are fastened in."

"Will you take me to my papa?"

"Yes; I will try to."

The child came to the door, and, following Bob's directions, with some difficulty slipped back the bolt.

"Clip," said Bob, in a tone of triumph, "We're free. Now do as I tell you, and we'll get away, and reach St. Louis ahead of the boat."