“Oh! dear, dear! do give me my parcel!” cried Jabez, in perplexity. “Our governor will think I’ve been loitering.”
“And so you have, you canting yellow-skirt. You stopped to put your long finger in our pie!” was the swift retort of Laurence, as he interposed his body between Jabez and the boy who held his lost charge.
“Eh! and you went off with Travis, wasting your time!” added Kit Townley.
“I never waste my time on an errand.”
“Oh! Miss Nancy never wastes time on an errand.” mimicked Ned Barret; and still they kept the boy on the run until he leaned, out of breath, against the wall which served as a parapet above the river.
Then, the disputed prize being kept by Kit Townley at a respectable distance, Laurence advanced to parley with him, offering to restore his parcel and let him go if he would take a solemn oath, which he dictated, to maintain silence on all which had transpired that afternoon.
“I cannot; I must account for my time,” firmly answered Jabez, “and I must account for that dirty parcel.”
“Tell them you tumbled down and hurt yourself,” suggested Aspinall.
“I cannot; it would be untrue!”
At this the lads set up a loud guffaw, as if truth were somewhat out of fashion; but the one who stood nearest the gate with the parcel looked restless, as if beginning to be tired of the whole business. Just then Laurence went blustering up to the College boy, and, thrusting his face forward, said—