“Yes. He was looking for something on the ground,” added another boy.
“And his trousers was tore,” said a third.
The story was clearly destined to stand in no need of corroboration.
“Did Mr. Richpin speak to you?” enquired Mr. Batchel.
“No, we run away afore he come to us,” was the answer.
“Why?”
“Because we was frit.”
“What frightened you?”
“Jim Lallement hauled a flint at him and hit him in the face, and he didn’t take no notice, so we run away.”
“Why?” repeated Mr. Batchel.