She stepped up to the master of the house and held out her palm.
“It is like a little cradle for a cupid,” he said.
“Nonsense, sir. I want the key of your dungeon. Have I not earned it?”
He laughed.
“There is none,” he said; “but a bolt in the floor.”
“May I shoot it back?”
“’Twould bruise your little fingers wofully.”
“But I have a heel, sir—that can kick against the pricks, I must add; or my gentle brother will say it for me.”
Mr. Tuke spoke more seriously.
“Well,” said he, “I leave the issue in your hands. I am loth to release the fellow. He hath conspired against me, I think and believe, and hath no more than his deserts. But, after all, it is a little thing if it please you; and I will not even hold you responsible for his safe custody.”