“If you means Tottie, ma’am, I is,” replied Bones, with a look and tone which were not amiable.
“I have a strong feeling of regard for your child, though not a scrap of pity for yourself,” said Miss Stivergill, with a frown.
Mr Bones muttered something to the effect that he returned the compliment with interest.
“For Tottie’s sake I should be sorry to see you transported,” continued the lady, “therefore I mean to let you off. Moreover, bad as you are, I believe you are not so bad as many people would think you. Therefore I’m going to trust you.”
Bones looked inquiringly and with some suspicion at his captor. He evidently thought there was a touch of insanity about her. This was confirmed when Miss Stivergill, seizing a carving-knife from the dresser, advanced with masculine strides towards him. He made a desperate effort to burst his bonds, but they were too scientifically arranged for that. “Don’t fear,” said the lady, severing the cord that bound the burglar’s wrists, and putting the knife in his hands. “Now,” she added, “you know how to cut yourself free, no doubt.”
“Well, you are a trump!” exclaimed Bones, rapidly touching his bonds at salient points with the keen edge.
In a few seconds he was free.
“Now, go away,” said Miss Stivergill, “and don’t let me see you here again.”
Bones looked with admiration at his deliverer, but could only find words to repeat that she was a trump, and vanished through the back-door, just as a band of men, with pitchforks, rakes, spades, and lanterns, came clamouring in at the front garden gate from the neighbouring farm.
“What is it?” exclaimed the farmer.