"What will the law allow us to say?" asked the parish clerk, who joined the group at this moment.
"That's the question we've got to consider, Mr. Jackson. Will the widow keep him on here at The Magpie, do you think?" he asked.
"He ought to be took before the justices," said another.
"He'll have to tell all he knows to the coroner."
"He's told Bill Newman and the doctor all he knows," put in another speaker; but it was evidently a gratification to all of them when the parish constable arrived and took Eric under his charge.
This was done at the doctor's suggestion, and was not unkindly meant on his part, for he had heard enough from one and the other to make him decide that the only safe place for the lad at this time was the constable's cottage. He could be kept there in safety until the inquest was over, but here in the village, when a little more ale had been consumed, some of the more brutal and reckless of the mob would probably try the experiment of ducking him in the overfull horsepond, thus adding murder to the present accident.
Poor Eric was full of trouble at the untimely death of his only friend, but there was no time for him to indulge his grief. As soon as his master had been carried home, he went back to fetch the horse and broken gig, and the latter was not an easy task, and took him some time to accomplish.
He had just got within sight of The Magpie, wearily plunging through mud and water, dragging the wrecked chaise behind him, when the constable laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"You must come with me, my lad," said the man.
The boy started and turned pale, and visions of men hung in chains for murder rose before him. "What have I done?" he gasped.