"To the justice's office, innocent. Where else could it be?" he answered, taking a firmer hold of my jacket.
"Why? I've done nothing, for we have just got here," I answered, still attempting to get away.
"Mebbe, but don't ask me, for blister my nose if I know; but quit wrigglin'; you're harder to hold than an eel."
"Well, I'm not going to any justice's office," I answered, slipping out of my jacket and starting to run.
"Hello, my bird!" he cried, catching hold of me. "Now keep quiet, or I'll put the come-alongs on you, an' I'd hate to do that, you're so young an' fresh."
"You are a bigger boy than he, Blott, and don't know half as much," the little man here interposed. "What are you about? Are you going to stand here all day wrangling with him?"
"If it was you, Pickle, I'd show you how spry I could be," Blott answered, eying the other.
Seeing no way of escape, I called at the top of my voice to Uncle Job, who had stopped a few feet away, and stood beside Mr. Lincoln, watching the loading of the boat. Hearing my cry and seeing the officer, they turned and hurried back.
"What have you got your hand on that lad for, officer?" Uncle Job asked, as he came up.
"'Cause I'm attached to him," he answered, winking stupidly at Mr. Lincoln.