‘He is, I tell you I know he is.’
‘I am sorry to differ from you, sir, but this is not he. I know which is which. Why, this chap’s hair have never been cut. If he’d been with us he’d have a head like a mole’s back.’
‘Not he!’ cried Mr. Jordan frantically. ‘I say to you this is Jasper Babb.’
‘Well, sir,’ said the warder, ‘sorry to differ, sir, but our man ain’t Jasper at all—he’s Martin.’
Then Joseph turned his light blue eyes round in quest of Jane. ‘I’ll roast her! I’ll eat her,’ he muttered, ‘at the next Love Feast.’
The men went away much disappointed, grumbling, swearing, ill-appeased by a glass of cider each; Jane sulked in the kitchen, and said to Barbara, ‘This day month, please, miss.’
Mr. Jordan, confounded, disappointed, crept back to his room and cast himself on his bed.
The only person in the house who could have helped them out of their disappointment was Eve, who knew something of the story of Martin, and knew, moreover, or strongly suspected, that he was not very far off. But no one thought of consulting Eve.
When all the party of constables was gone, Barbara stood in the garden, and Jasper came to her.
‘You will tell me all now?’ she said, looking at him with eyes full of thankfulness and trust.