Johnny Petersen looked in surprise, consternation, and wrath when the two little cripples entered his shop the next morning, shamefaced and sheepish, as if they expected to be called to account for something.

And he did not lose time in making known the cause of his displeasure, could they, indeed, have had any doubt on that question.

Matty’s hair was gone, cut close to her head, almost shaved off; and the loss of it gave the poor little face a more wizened, pinched, and unnatural expression than ever. The effect was perfectly startling, and repulsive in the extreme; and after staring at the child for a moment, and all but dropping the flower-pot he held in his hands, he broke forth into a torrent of words, mingling German and broken English in a manner which made them all but incomprehensible to the poor little ones. But they knew well enough what brought them forth, and they had no explanation to offer. It was their secret, and must remain a secret, so they thought, if the sacrifice were to be worth any thing.

Naturally, Johnny laid the blame of the transformation on the debased parents, whom he knew to be capable of any deed, no matter how shameful or cruel, if thereby they could obtain the means to procure liquor. Tony and Matty gathered, from the jargon which he sputtered forth, that this was his idea; and they were quite satisfied to have it so, for no sentiments of filial affection moved them to enlighten him.

And it was not only the loss of that wealth of hair which made Matty look far worse than she had ever done before. She had not on the decent garments she had worn for some time past, but was in the ragged and soiled clothes which she had of late worn only when she went home at night, discarding them in the morning when she stopped at Mrs. Petersen’s and put on the better ones which had been given to her. To all Petersen’s questions she opposed a sullen silence; although she hung her head, and appeared embarrassed, which she was not apt to be.

But Tony, with his jolly little face clouded over, appeared really distressed, and looked from his sister to the florist and back again in a distraught, helpless sort of way, which quite touched the heart of the kind old Dutchman; but neither from him could Johnny’s rather incoherent questions draw forth any satisfaction, and the children both were glad when the entrance of a customer drew Johnny’s attention for the time from themselves.

But the situation did not improve for the two little unfortunates when Mrs. Petersen, uneasy that they had not appeared at her rooms for the usual change of clothing, came bustling up to know if her husband could tell her any thing of them; and, not a little astonished to find Matty at her post and Tony also at his, plied them anew with questions in English rather better than her husband’s, and to which it was more difficult to avoid giving straightforward replies. But she gained as little as he had done, and she, too, took it for granted that either the father or mother had deprived the little hunchback of her hair.

The truth was, that the children had not cared to face her with the change in Matty’s appearance, and hence had concluded to come to the day’s business in their old clothes.

But Mrs. Petersen, energetic and stirring, was not going to let the matter rest thus, but was determined to probe it to the bottom if possible, and declared that she was going at once to see the mother, and call her to account. Whether she had some vague idea of bringing the supposed offenders to justice, or of restoring the lost locks to Matty, I cannot tell; but just as she was leaving, Milly, Bessie, and I, bound for an early trip to spend the day with a friend in the country, whose birthday it was, came into the shop to purchase some flowers.

The morning was damp and chilly, although there was the promise of a fair day later on; and Matty’s stand was placed inside when we entered the shop, and the first thing our eyes rested upon was Matty’s shorn head. We all three leaped at once to the same conclusion with the Petersens. But whether it was that I was more forcibly struck than the others with the cruelty of the thing, from having something of a fellow-feeling for Matty in the possession of a profuse quantity of hair somewhat like her own, although, as she had said, hers had been “purtier” than mine, despite the lack of the care which mine had always received, or that I had less self-control over my emotions; certain it is that I burst into a passion of tears and sobs, which astonished not only the good florist and his wife, but also my own sister and friend. I was ashamed of them, but could not control them; and perhaps it was as well that I could not do so immediately, for those tears made their way where all else had failed to effect an entrance; and, to my great astonishment, Matty seized with both her hands upon mine, which in my great pity and sympathy I had laid upon her shoulder, and, carrying it to her face, laid her cheek upon it. The next instant she dropped it, and sat looking down with the same stolid expression that she ordinarily wore. Indeed, it had hardly changed even at the moment of that most unusual demonstration, for no trace of any emotion had been visible on the worn, old little face.

Tony was delighted, as pleased as though his sister had given evidence of some wonderful talent, or performed some heroic action.

“She likes ye, miss,” he exclaimed, “an’ I allus knowed she did, though she wouldn’t let on. She likes ye fust rate, though she wor kinder back’ard ‘bout lettin’ on. Now don’t ye like the lady, Matty? If she hadn’t liked ye lots, miss, she wouldn’t er ” Here he checked himself with a frightened, embarrassed look, and rushing out of the little store, applied himself vigorously to the turning of his empty, tireless peanut-roaster.

But not a word, and not another token of any thing like feeling, was to be drawn from Matty. The rock had hardened again, and to all appearances no softening influences could be brought to bear upon it. It was not until Mrs. Petersen again expressed her positive intention of going to call the elder Blairs to account, and was about to start off for that purpose, that the child roused herself again, and turned, with something of apprehension in her expression, to look for Tony, who, having discovered that he was working aimlessly, was making ready to kindle his charcoal and fill his roaster.

“I go to dat mutter an’ fader; I gif dem some pieces of my mi-int,” said Mrs. Petersen, as she turned toward the door; but Milly stopped her.

“Do not, please, Mrs. Petersen,” she said, in a tone too low to reach Matty’s ear. “It will only make trouble for yourself and us. We cannot give poor Matty back her beautiful hair; and if you vex those dreadful people, it will only put fresh difficulties in the way of persuading them to give up the children.”

“I tell dem my mi-int,” persisted Mrs. Petersen; but finally she was persuaded to listen to reason and to satisfy herself with relieving her “mi-int.”

My idea had been to induce Mrs. Petersen and Johnny or Mrs. Petersen rather, for Johnny was sure to follow her lead, to take Matty and Tony under their care, and give them a home. Cousin Serena had offered to furnish the means for Tony’s support, and I to do the same for Matty. But the florist and his wife had been unwilling to undertake the charge, even if the parents could be bribed to give up the children, lest they should be exposed to trouble in the future; therefore the Blairs had not yet been approached on the subject. I was for taking high-handed measures, and having the children separated from them on the ground of neglect and cruelty; but wiser and less impulsive heads than mine had decided that there was hardly sufficient reason for this, and I had been obliged to restrain my impatience and content myself with such alleviations of their lot as I could compass at present. I am not patient by nature, and could not bear to have any delay or hinderances put in the way of my schemes for the benefit of those children, and in secret I chafed a little over this.

It will readily be surmised what had become of Matty’s hair.

Doubting the truth of Theodore’s story, and yet fearing that there might be some foundation for it, Tony had confided to his sister that he meant to ask Jim about it, notwithstanding Theodore’s warning to beware how he did so. Jim’s anger at the questions he had put, especially at that regarding the “poisoning,” had been enough to convince him that it was all true. Jim had a secret which he was afraid to have known; and that secret could be nothing more nor less than the alleged poisoning, which he plainly could not or would not deny; and which, according to ignorant little Tony’s ideas, he was afraid to have come to the ears of the police. Theodore had learned of that unfortunate occurrence as we heard later when all this came to light through the medium of a stray copy of the objectionable paper containing the paragraph before referred to. This he had happened to read to his grandfather and grandmother, who, proud of his ability to do this far better than they could do it for themselves for reading with Captain and Mrs. Yorke was a work of time and difficulty, involving more pains-taking than pleasure often set him to amuse them in this way in the evening.

“Madison Avenue” to Captain Yorke was comprised in the block on which our house was situated; and the curiosity of the old man being insatiable, he had never rested until he had located the house. By dint of questioning Thomas and the other servants, he soon learned all there was to know, and was greatly excited and very wrathy when he heard the truth. He repeated this to his wife and grandson, bidding them never to say a word about it, as the family had been much annoyed and displeased. Theodore, however, had once ventured to ask Jim about the matter, and had been met by such a burst of fury that he had never ventured to speak of it again to him. Not for fear of offending Jim, however, but because he dreaded the anger of his grandfather, should Jim complain, as he threatened to do, to the old man; for Jim would have told in this case on my account.

But it answered Theodore’s purpose when he set himself to work to devise means to obtain the five dollars he coveted. He had aroused the fears of these ignorant children for those who had been kind to them, and having been convinced by Jim’s behavior that it was all true, Tony had proposed what indeed had been in Matty’s mind before, that she should sell her hair, and so buy Theodore’s silence. Matty had agreed; and that morning, before they had made their appearance at the florist’s, they had gone to a barber’s, and, with small worldly wisdom, Tony had demanded if he would give five dollars for Matty’s hair.

Gazing with astonishment and delight at the mine of wealth displayed for his approbation, the barber drew the long silky tresses through his fingers, and closed the bargain at once, as well he might, supposing him to be possessed of neither heart nor conscience. Matty’s head was expeditiously shorn, and the proceeds of the unrighteous sale were put into Tony’s hands; for he had appeared as the speaking partner throughout the transaction, Matty maintaining the usual impassive, sullen silence, so seldom broken save for her brother and the Petersens.

The next thing to do was to see Theodore and to hand him the money; and being in haste to do this before he should have time to give the dreaded information to the police, Tony went to the boarding-place which was his home at present, Matty waiting for her brother on the neighboring corner, and asked for Theodore.

Now, this proceeding, as it proved, brought swift detection and punishment upon the young blackmailer.

Theodore had not remembered to guard against the children coming to the house; indeed, he had not thought of his rascally scheme bearing fruit at all so soon.

Happily for the frustration of that scheme, Theodore was out, having been sent on an errand by his grandfather; and the old captain himself, who was lounging on the front steps, was the one who first met the lame boy. Tony, who was not able to read numbers, had not been quite sure of his ground in the row of houses all so much alike; but he had no further doubt when he saw Captain Yorke.

At first he drew back, uncertain whether to make it known that his business was with Theodore; but his fear that his tormentor would “tell the perlice” before he had the opportunity to quiet him was too strong for his caution, and he asked the captain if Theodore was “to home.”

“No, he ain’t; an’ what ye want with Theodore, sonny?” asked the captain.

Tony hesitated and fidgeted; and the old man asked sharply and quickly, “He ain’t been hookin’ your peanuts agin?”

“No o,” stammered Tony; and the captain, coming down the steps to where the boy stood, laid his hand upon his shoulder, and said sternly, although the sternness was not for the cripple,

“Ef he’s touched another peanut, or been a-wrongin’ of ye any way, tell me, tell me right off. What is it?”

But Tony dared not tell; and the honest old seaman, whose confidence in his grandson had never been fully restored, was convinced that he had been about some of his evil ways again. He could do nothing with Tony, however; no persuasions could avail to draw any explanation from him; and he presently made his escape, hobbling down the street with the marvellous celerity with which he used his crutches, leaving the captain a prey to disquietude and apprehension.

Nor had he hope of obtaining any thing like the truth from Theodore himself: so he asked him no questions when he returned, nor did he tell him that Tony had come to ask for him, but, after taking counsel with himself, resolved to see Johnny Petersen, and tell him to be on the watch; and soon after we had left the florist’s, he appeared there.

Tony saw the old Brutus coming down the street, stern and determined of aspect, trouble in every line of his weather-beaten countenance, and supposed himself to be his objective point. Dreading further catechism, and not being willing to encounter it, he dropped the crank of the peanut-roaster, and was off again before the captain was near enough to speak. Johnny could tell nothing, he thought, save that Matty’s hair was gone, which the old man could not fail to see for himself; and his sister, he well knew, would not speak. For a moment he thought he would seize his opportunity, and hasten back to the house while Captain Yorke was away, and hand Theodore the five dollars; but he recollected that the oppressor would be at school, and so this would be useless. From a safe distance he watched for the captain’s departure, and did not venture near his post till he saw him come out and walk away.

As he had foreseen, not a word could either Captain Yorke or the florist draw from Matty, when the former had made known the purpose of his coming; and they both questioned her closely. One might have thought that she was utterly deaf and dumb as she sat opposing that stolid, determined silence to all they said. Johnny knew nothing which could throw any light on the subject; and after telling him of Tony’s embarrassment, and bidding him be on the watch, the heavy-hearted old man left the little shop.

Johnny did keep on the watch, but refrained from asking Tony any questions, keeping his eye upon him, however; but no further developments appeared until later in the day, when he saw Theodore coming down the other side of the avenue, and observed that Tony raised a warning finger to him as if to bid him keep his distance. Theodore paused on the opposite corner, and Tony went over to meet him.

Considerations of delicacy did not withhold Johnny from intruding upon what was evidently meant to be a private interview; and when, after a moment’s converse, Tony put his hand in his pocket, and drew forth something which he gave to Theodore, the florist darted from his shop, and rushed across the street with an agility which was hardly to be expected from one of his years and girth.

Theodore saw him coming, and his guilty conscience leaped to the truth; Johnny suspected something wrong, and was coming to accuse him.

Closing his hand tightly on the prize which he had just received from his victim, he turned, and started to run. But an avenging Nemesis, in the shape of a piece of orange-peel, was behind him; his foot slipped upon it, and he came heavily to the ground. Before he could rise, the florist precipitated himself upon him with so much momentum, that he too lost his balance, and fell flat upon the boy. Not one whit disturbed was Johnny, however, by the fear that he might have injured his prisoner, although he had half knocked the breath from the boy’s body; on the contrary, he would, I think, have been quite pleased to know that Theodore was seriously bruised.

Rising with some difficulty, and not without assistance from a passer-by who had seen the catastrophe, puffing and panting, but still retaining the hold he had taken of Theodore’s collar, he hauled the boy to his feet, and, regardless of the punishment he had already inflicted, gave him a hard cuff upon the ear, saying,

“You runs away from me, will you? I learns you, my poy, you shtays ven I vants to shpeak mit you.”

Supposing from this authoritative address that he was the father of the boy who had been guilty of some wrong, the man who had helped him passed on his way, leaving him to deal with the culprit as he saw fit. And Johnny saw fit to handle him with any thing but gentleness, pushing him before him across the street, and into the shop, giving him now and then a vicious shake, diversifying this with an occasional punch in the back with the fist of the disengaged hand. Had they had any distance to go, they would probably have drawn a crowd after them; as it was, they reached Johnny’s quarters without attracting any special attention.

“Now,” said the breathless florist when he had his captive safely within the shelter of the shop, “now, vat is your pusiness mit Tony? Tony is my scharge, an’ I don’ let him talks mit poys what shteals what don’ pelongs to dem. Vat you got here?”

And he seized the tightly closed hand containing the five dollars, which Theodore had not yet found opportunity to conceal in a safer place. Theodore resisted; but he was no match for Petersen, who tripped him up again without compunction, and, regardless of consequences to the surrounding plants, which happily came to no harm in the struggle, sat upon him, and opened his hand with both his own.

Five dollars!

Johnny was not a particularly brilliant Dutchman, and his mind was generally slow in arriving at any conclusion; but the two and two which were to be put together here were not difficult to compute; and as he looked from the five-dollar bill to Matty’s shorn head, and back again, he was not long in deciding that they made four. Matty for once showed some sign of emotion as she sat rubbing her hand over her poor little head in a nervous manner; although beyond this, and the stare with which she regarded the combatants, she showed no trace of interest in the affair, never once opening her lips.

“So!” said the florist, holding out the bill at arm’s length, “so! How is dis? You put Matty’s head to de schissors, an’ take him all off, und you shteal den her monish. De peanuts is a pad pisness; but dis is so much vorse as it goes to de prison. Tell me, Tony, how is dis?”

“I didn’t steal it, he gave it to me; and I didn’t touch Matty’s hair,” panted the prostrate Theodore. “He he he wanted me to do something for him, and he said he would give me that if I did it. Oh! let me up!”

“Hole your moût, and shpeak ven you is shpoken mit,” said Johnny. “Tony, shpeak an’ tell me. How vas it? You is cut off Matty’s head; you is got de monish, five tollars, vat I tells you he is vort; now tell me what for you gifs dis five tollars to dis pad poy, a poy so vorse as I do not know. I vill haf you tell me; if no, I calls de police.”

There was no escape; on all hands Tony saw visions of the police, who would soon ferret out the whole matter, away back to Miss Amy and Jim (so Tony thought); and he found it best to throw himself and all concerned on the mercy of his old friend, and make a full confession.

As he told the shameful story of how Theodore had threatened to tell Jim’s “secret,” and to let the police know of the “poisoning” unless somebody paid him five dollars to keep it quiet; of the confirmation he had himself received from Jim’s manner and words when he asked him about it; of how he and Matty had resolved to save their friends by the sacrifice of the hair which Johnny himself had often told them was worth so much money; of how they had gone to the barber’s, and sold the hair; and lastly, how he, seeing Theodore on the opposite side of the street, had hurried over to bribe him with the five dollars to hold his peace, and how Theodore had accepted the price, the kind-hearted florist waxed more and more angry; and when he rose, and once more hauled the boy to his feet, it was only to seize a cane, and administer such a chastisement as the culprit had seldom or never received.

Theodore made little or no outcry, however, for he was afraid of attracting attention from without, and perhaps himself falling into the hands of the law; for he did not know, if his deeds were once made public, how far he might be under the ban of that authority.

“Now you go,” said Johnny, when at last he paused, breathless from all his exertions, and with one final shake released his captive; “go und tell de gran’fader I fin’ vat is de matter out, und I gifs de vorst vips as I could gif to de vorst poy in all de down, und so I safes him some droubles. But if he dinks to gif you some more of de same veesic, I dink it not too moosh. For dat gran’fader, I says notings to de police for dis time; bud if you says one leetle more vord apout de young lady or dat goot poy Jim, or makes afrait any more dese schillens, den you see some dings to make you shtare. Go, go!”

And Theodore stood not upon the order of his going.

The pleasure of the day with our friends had been much marred for me by the recollection of the shorn head of my forlorn little protegee and the repulsive appearance she now presented; and I was more than ever anxious to remove her from the father and mother, who, I thought, had treated her so unjustly and cruelly; and I could not reconcile myself to the idea that this afforded no grounds for my taking them away.

But that difficulty was presently to be solved in the most satisfactory way to those who had at heart the welfare of the crippled children.

Mother had occasion to send Jim upon an errand shortly after his return from school that afternoon; and he found it convenient, according to his usual custom, to return by a roundabout way, and stop at the peanut-stand. The excitement in Johnny’s small establishment had hardly subsided when he made his appearance, and it was little wonder that he tarried long on his errand; so long, indeed, that mother rather lost patience, and said that she should forbid his stopping at his favorite haunt, except by express permission, if this occurred again. But his want of punctuality was quite forgiven when he came in with the tidings which he bore.

As usual, however, when any question arose of Theodore’s want of principle, or any instance of it was shown, there was something in Jim’s manner which excited the attention of those of the household under whose immediate observation he most came; and again Milly was surprised to see how wistful, uneasy, and absolutely nervous he was, appearing, as he often had before, as if there were something on his mind which he wished to tell her, but which he could not muster courage to confess.