"Why, it is seamed and slashed like a piece of raw meat. No, no, the brush never did that, lad!" he went on, examining it more carefully.
"It's nothing, sir, and will be all right in the morning," I answered.
"Maybe, but for fear I'll rub some salve on it to help it along," he answered; and going to a small cupboard, brought back a cup of grease, which he smeared over my face. "There, that will do for to-night, and in the morning I will dress it again."
"You are foolish to waste grease or sympathy on him, jailer," Moth interposed. "That is the lad we have been looking for all day, and a precious sly one he is, too."
"Well, he does not look it," the jailer answered, "but frank about the eyes as my own boy, though his face is not much to speak of in its present shape."
"I'm as honest, sir, as I can be, and this man has no business to say I'm not, nor claim any rights over me," I answered, appealingly.
"Do not let him fool you, jailer. Those brown eyes of his have more deviltry in them than there is in that highwayman's whole body," Moth answered, looking across at the man in the corner, who had straightened up and now sat silently regarding us.
"I'm not bad," I cried, laying hold of the jailer's hand, "and I haven't harmed any one, nor taken what didn't belong to me."
"I am sure of it," he answered, kindly.
"I told you he would fool you, for in cunning and evasion he is Satan's own imp," Moth answered, anger showing in his voice.