But the little fellow was frightened, and all the other could do in the way of persuasion failed to restore his confidence.
Alf Purvis said no more in the way of remonstrance, but ran after the fugitive as hard as his legs would carry him.
Encumbered with the hare, and pinioned as he was, he managed to get within a few yards’ distance of his younger and less agile companion.
The latter screamed with fright, and, turning out of the high road, flew into an adjoining meadow.
His pursuer followed fast on his heels. In another moment, Alf had overtaken the boy, with whom he came in collision, both falling on the grass together.
“Oh, mercy! What shall I do? Oh, oh!” sobbed the urchin.
Alf held him down by one knee, and then said, in a most conciliatory tone—
“You’ve no occasion to be a snivelin’. Nobody will hurt you. I want you to do me a favour. Come, there’s a good fellow; you won’t refuse, I’m sure. Don’t you know me?”
“No I don’t.”
“I work at Stoke Ferry Farm, and they’ve tied my hands behind me; that’s what they’ve been and done. Now you get up, and I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”