“Oh! O-o-o-ooh!” yelled Dicky. “Let me go—let me go! Please, sir, let me go! I know my mother will give me a whipping for bein’ out so late!”
“See here,” cried the sergeant gruffly, “have you seen anything of the gang that has carried off General Prescott?”
The door opened just then and the Widow Stubbs appeared with a candle in her hand.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Oh, it’s you, Dicky. Very well, very well. A pretty time of night it is for you to be out. Just hand him over to me, sir,” said the artful Mrs. Stubbs to the sergeant, “and I’ll promise you he won’t be going around the streets at this disreputable hour of the night for a good while.”
Dicky, at this, who could hardly keep from roaring out laughing, opened his mouth and wailed louder than ever, until the sergeant nearly shook the breath out of him.
“Shut that potato trap of yours,” cried the sergeant, “and listen to me. Have you seen a gang of men carrying an officer off into the woods? for that is what has just happened.”
A bright idea struck Dicky.
“A tall, fine looking man, as I’ve seen going in and out of the Overing House?” he whimpered.
At this Mrs. Stubbs turned pale, thinking Dicky meant to turn traitor; but the sergeant answered him eagerly:—
“Yes, yes.”