"He won't go home."
"What is that to you?"
"He gives me a 'apenny to pelt him home if I ketches him out too late," says the boy. And then chants, like a little savage, half stumbling, and half dancing, among the rags and laces of his dilapidated boots,——
Widdy widdy wen!
I—ke—ches—'im out—ar—ter ten,
Widdy widdy wy!
Then—'E—don't—go—then—I shy,
Widdy widdy Wakecock warning!
—with a sweeping emphasis on the last word, and one more shot at Durdles. The bit of doggerel is evidently a sign which Durdles understands to mean either that he must prove himself able to stand clear of the shots, or betake himself immediately homeward, but he does not stir.
John Jasper crosses over to the railing where the Stony One is still profoundly meditating.
"Do you know this thing, this child?" he asks.
"Deputy," says Durdles, with a nod.
"Is that its—his—name?"
"Deputy," assents Durdles, whereupon the small boy feels called upon to speak for himself.