Philip was glad to hear that all in the almshouse went to bed so early. He had not yet given up the hope of escaping that night, though he had as yet arranged no definite plan of escape.
Meanwhile, he had an active friend outside. I refer, of course, to Frank Dunbar. Frank had no sooner heard of his friend’s captivity than he instantly determined, if it were a possible thing, to help him to escape.
He would not even wait till the next day, but determined after it was dark to visit the poor-house and reconnoiter. First, he informed his parents what had befallen Phil. Their indignation was scarcely less than his.
“Squire Pope is carrying matters with a high hand,” said the farmer. “According to my idea, he has done no less than kidnap Philip, without the shadow of a legal right.”
“Can’t he be prosecuted?” asked Frank eagerly.
“I am not sure as to that,” answered his father, “but I am confident that Philip will not be obliged to remain, unless he chooses, a dependent upon the charity of the town.”
“It is outrageous!” said Mrs. Dunbar, who was quite as friendly to Philip as her husband and son.
“In my opinion,” said Mr. Dunbar, “Squire Pope has done a very unwise thing as regards his own interests. He desires to remain in office, and the people will not be likely to reelect him if his policy is to make paupers of those who wish to maintain themselves. Voters will be apt to think that they are sufficiently taxed already for the support of those who are actually unable to maintain themselves.”
“If I were a voter,” exclaimed Frank indignantly, “I wouldn’t vote for Squire Pope, even for dog-catcher! The meanest part of it is the underhanded way in which he has taken Phil. He must have known he was acting illegally, or he would have come here in open day and required Phil to go with him.”
“I agree with you, Frank. Squire Pope may be assured that he has lost my vote from henceforth. Hitherto I have voted for him annually for selectman, knowing that he wanted the office and considering him fairly faithful.”
“Father,” said Frank, after a thoughtful pause, “do you think Philip would be justified in escaping from the poorhouse?”
“I do,” answered Mr. Dunbar. “In this free country I hold that no one ought to be made an object of charity against his will.”
“Philip is strong enough and smart enough to earn his own living,” said Frank.
“That is true. I will myself give him his board and clothes if he will stay with me and work on the farm.”
“I wish he would. He would be a splendid companion for me; but I think he wants to leave Norton, and try his fortune in some larger place.”
“I can’t blame him. If his father were living and he had a good home, I should not think it wise; but, as matters stand, it may not be a bad plan for him.”
“Father,” said Frank, after supper, “I am going out and I may not be back very early.”
“Are you going to see Philip?”
“Yes; but I want to see him alone. If possible, I will see him without attracting the attention of Joe Tucker.”
“You won’t get into any trouble, Frank?” said his mother anxiously.
“No, mother; I don’t know what trouble I can get into.”
“You may very likely fail to see Philip,” suggested his father. “I hear that Tucker and his boarders go to bed very early.”
“So much the better!” said Frank, in a tone of satisfaction. “The only one I want to see is Philip, and he isn’t likely to go to sleep very early.”
Mr. Dunbar smiled to himself.
“Frank has got some plan in his head,” he thought. “I won’t inquire what it is, for he has good common sense, and won’t do anything improper.”
About eight o’clock, Frank, after certain preparations, which will hereafter be referred to, set out for the poorhouse, which was about a mile distant.
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