"Ain't we never a-goin' to start?" inquired Jeremy, staring out
of the window, with his back to us.
"And where," said I, "where might you be taking me?"
"Why, since you ax, my covey, we 'm a-takin' you where you'll be
took good care on, where you'll feed well, and 'ave justice done
on you--trust us for that. Though, to be sure, I'm sorry to take
you from such proper quarters as these 'ere--nice and airy--eh,
Jeremy?"
"Ah!--an' wi' a fine view o' the graves!" growled Jeremy, leading
the way out.
In the street stood a chaise and four, surrounded by a pushing,
jostling throng of men, women, and children, who, catching sight
of me between the Bow Street Runners, forgot to push and jostle,
and stared at me with every eye and tooth they possessed, until I
was hidden in the chaise.
"Right away!" growled Jeremy, shutting the door with a bang.
"Whoa!" roared a voice, and a great, shaggy golden head was
thrust in at the window, and a hand reached down and grasped
mine.
"A pipe an' 'baccy, Peter--from me; a flask o' rum--Simon's best,
from Simon; an' chicken sang-widges, from my Prue." This as he
passed in each article through the window. "An' I were to say,
Peter, as we are all wi' you--ever an' ever, an' I were likewise
to tell 'ee as 'ow Prue'll pray for 'ee oftener than before, an'
--ecod!" he broke off, the tears running down his face, "there
were a lot more, but I've forgot it all, only, Peter, me an'
Simon be goin' to get a lawyer chap for 'ee, an'--oh, man, Peter,
say the word, an' I'll have 'ee out o' this in a twinklin' an'
we'll run for it--"
But, even as I shook my head, the postboy's whip cracked, and the
horses plunged forward.
"Good-by, George!" I cried, "good-by, dear fellow!" and the last
I saw of him was as he stood rubbing his tears away with one fist
and shaking the other after the chaise.