The rower in the other boat laughed at this, and the constable cried,—
“Come, come, none of this. How far have you pulled up the river, boy?”
“From Battersea.”
“Oh, hem! From Battersea?”
“I told you so.”
“Come, come, young fellow—no insolence. Where’s the fire?”
“I can’t say exactly.”
“Where do you think it is? You say you have pulled up from Battersea, and the fire is at Battersea, we know.”
“I think it’s at old Forest’s haunted house,” said the boy.
“D—d if I didn’t think so,” cried the officer, who was no other than our old friend Stephy; “I must go and see, though, notwithstanding. Pull away, my man.”