look,—­of her sudden shriek!  Explaining his suspicious in a whisper to Jack’s captor, who proved to be a church-warden and a constable, by name John Dump,—­Mr. Kneebone begged him to take the prisoner into the churchyard.  Dump instantly complied, and as soon as Jack was removed from the sacred edifice, his person was searched from head to foot—­but without success.  Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence.  In vain did the woollen-draper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it.  He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—­had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up.  Nor did he content himself with declaring his guiltlessness of the crime imputed to him, but began in his turn to menace his captor and accuser, loading the latter with the bitterest upbraidings.  By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber.  But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London.  Of this man Kneebone resolved to go in pursuit; and leaving Jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to the small inn,—­which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the Six Bells,—­where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed.

Meanwhile, after a consultation between Mr. Dump and the village authorities, it was agreed to lock up the prisoner in the cage.  As he was conveyed thither, an incident occurred that produced a considerable impression on the feelings of the youthful offender.  Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard—­where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—­a momentary stoppage took place.  At this gate two paths meet.  Down that on the right the young culprit was dragged—­along that on the left a fainting woman was borne in the arms of several females.  It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack’s heart severely smote him.  He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison.

The cage at Willesden was, and is—­for it is still standing—­a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached.  Over these boards the two arms of a guide-post serve to direct the way-farer—­on the right hand to the neighbouring villages of Neasdon and Kingsbury, and on the left to the Edgeware Road and the healthy heights of Hampstead.  The cage has a strong door, with an iron grating at the top, and further secured by a stout bolt and padlock.  It is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at no great distance from the church.