“Do so at your peril,” I cried, holding up my iron defiantly.
The officer continued his beat as if he were perplexed as to my business in that part of the country; I observed that he kept his eye upon me, and turned round occasionally as he went up the street.
I failed to obtain an entrance into the “Red Lion,” nor did I see anyone to ask where the station house was, and as the persons met with appeared semi-savages, I became anxious about the balloon, and decided upon going back and having a parting word with the policeman.
That official, however, was not to be seen, he had either gone further on the road, or he was watching me from some unseen place.
On recognizing the stone, and regaining the field, sleep was once more sought, and this time successfully.
I did not awake until voices were faintly heard in the morning.
I then peeped from my cage, and found that farm labourers were going to work.
Feeling assured that they would pass the gate, notice the stone, and then the balloon, I remained quiet, but could clearly discern the men as they came to a dead halt, as if paralyzed with astonishment at the strange appearance in the field.
“What be that Jim?” said the foremost man with one leg raised on the gate.
“Dang’d if I know,” said another, “either the owld’un or sum’mut alive.”