"That's just what we mean to find out," said a man who stood near.
"You go quietly home with the constable, my boy," said the doctor, who came out of The Magpie parlour on purpose to say a word to Eric.
The widow was in hysterics now she had been told the news about her husband, and really needed the doctor's care; but he was concerned for the poor boy who had happened to be the dead man's companion on that unfortunate journey, for he knew the popular opinion concerning him.
"Why should I have to go with the constable when I am wanted at the stable? Who will see to Peggy while I am away?" asked the lad.
"Never mind Peggy; she will be taken care of, never fear," said the doctor.
"Somebody ought to give her a warm mash at once," said Eric, looking tenderly at his four-footed friend, who stood shivering in the bitter wind, but did not know whether she ought to seek the shelter of the stable, if Eric did not take her there.
This same bleak wind made the constable impatient.
"You'll have to come, you know," he said rather roughly; "for Mrs. Tyler won't have you again, and has told me to arrest you as a beggar if you do not go quietly."
So poor Eric, feeling sadly depressed and apprehensive of what might happen next, went home with the constable, who took pity on him, and gave him an old suit of clothes to wear while his own were drying, and for lodging let him have a loft over his own kitchen, which was warm and dry, if not very cheerful.
Of course there was a good deal of excited talk over Tyler's accident, and but for the doctor's care, Eric might have found himself much worse off than in the constable's loft, for all the old tales talked of during his mother's lifetime were revived now, and Summerleigh was ready to believe that the landlord of The Magpie had died from magical arts, though the verdict of the coroner's jury upon the doctor's testimony could only make it accidental death, and there was no longer any excuse for keeping Eric out of the way.