“Now old man, sharp’s the word,” cried the same voice. “There’ll be a rare hue and cry presently. Keep along this beaten pathway; that’s it.”
They passed through the wood, and arrived at a narrow lane full of ruts.
In this was a horse and cart.
“Jump in, old man,” cried the stranger.
Peace jumped into the cart—his companion did the same and drove off at a sharp trot.
“Well, hang me if I’m not knocked silly,” cried our hero, “why if it aint Bandy-legged Bill.”
“Right you are, my child,” returned the gipsy, “one good turn deserves another. You let me off the ‘Carved Lion’ business; I’ve just come up in time to return the compliment.”
“How came you on the spot?”
“How came I? Why I heard the scream, and thought murder was being committed, so I dropped out of the trap and made for the old red house. Then I seed you and the bobby a strugglin’; so I ups and gives him one for himself, and the best thing for both on us to do now is to take a circumbendibus route to London—not but what I think we shall be able to dodge ’em. I’ve got as pretty a little tit in this ere cart as any man need wish to drive.”
“Hang it, but you are a jovial fellow, Bill, after all,” said Peace, “and I shall never forget this kindness.”