"They have put out to sea and taken the boys, perhaps by stealth, perhaps by violence."
"Likely enough."
"Poor boys, poor boys!"
"And where did all this take place?" demanded Jefferson; "in one of the public promenades, did you say?"
"Mr. Jefferson," replied old Mole saucily, "you want your nose filed. I said in the dancing garden."
"Oh, de dancing garden, was it, Massa Ikey?" said a voice in his ear, which caused him to palpitate nervously.
It was Mrs. Mole.
When he had spoken of the dancing garden, he had not noticed his better half's presence.
"Yes, my dear," he said timidly, trying to look dignified the while before the company.
"And what was you—doing in such a place as a dancing garding, Mister Mole, sar?" demanded his dusky rib, in a voice which sounded dangerous.