“He’s gettin’ out of the winder. You stay here, Maria, and I’ll try to catch him below.”
Mr. Maslin, whose head was bound up with a towel, was a pretty lively man for his sixty odd years, and the way he got down the stairway and out into the yard would have put many a younger man to shame.
But the boy was as active as a young monkey, and guessed pretty closely what his persecutor’s tactics would be.
He dropped his bundle into the yard, swung himself out and alighted nimbly on his feet, and when Mr. Maslin dashed out to cut him off Dick was passing through the gate into the road.
“Come back here, you young rascal, or I’ll skin you alive!” he shouted angrily.
But the boy had no intention of returning now that he had crossed the Rubicon at last.
“I’ll have you took up and put in the calaboose; do you hear?”
Dick heard, but the threat had no effect on him.
He bounded around the corner of the fence and ran full tilt into another boy, knocking him head over heels.
The floored youth proved to be Luke Maslin, who was returning from the village.