“Yes, yes,” he replied hurriedly.
“Samson Salt was a big man and had only had
the coat three years when he died, and we couldn’t
afford a new one for Timothy. Dear me, but this
isn’t a council meeting, and what’s the
beadle’s coat got to do with horse-stealing?”
“As much as I have,” I replied gravely.
“Yow’ve ’ad enough, my lad,”
said the host, “to last y’r the rest of
y’r life. The next ’oss you rides’ll
be foaled of an acorn. Let Timothy put him in
clink, Master Mayor, and come and have a noggin of
the real thing. Gom, I’m that dry my belly’ll
be thinking my throat’s cut.”
“Arrest this man, Timothy Tomkins, and put him
in jail till I can take due order for his trial.”
Timothy turned up the sleeves of his coat, and arrested
me by placing his hand on my arm, and flourishing
the brass crown in my face.
“Don’t hurt me, Timothy,” I said.
“I’ll come like a lamb, and I’ll
go slow lest you should tumble over the tail of your
coat.”
“If you say another word about the blasted coat
I’ll split your head open,” was his angry
reply. It was evidently a sore topic with him
and a familiar one with his frugal townsmen, for some
man in the crowd cried out, “’Tinna big
enough for the missis, be it, Timothy?” And while
the peppery little beadle’s eyes were searching
the japer out, another added, “More’s
the pity, for ’er’s a bit of a light-skirt.”
At this there was a roar of laughter, so I saved the
frenzied officer further trouble by saying, “Come
along, Timothy. Let’s go to jail.”
On the Mayor’s orders, mine host despoiled me
of the sergeant’s tuck, and Timothy marched
me off to the jail, the rabble following, as full of
chatter as a nest of magpies. The jail was a small
stone building, standing, like the town hall, in the
middle of the street. Arrived there, Timothy
thrust me into an ill-lit dirty hole below the level
of the street, locked the door behind me, and left
me to my reflections.
The only furniture of the den was a rude bench.
A nap would do me good, so, after a good pull at Kate’s
precious cordial, I curled up on the bench and in
a few minutes was sound asleep. And in my sleep
I dreamed that two blue stars were twinkling at me
through a golden cloud.
The guest-room of the “Rising
sun”
A wisp of cloud, a long trail of shimmering gold,
broke loose, swept with the touch of softest silk
across my cheek, and half awakened me. I was
lazily and sleepily regretting that such caresses only
came in dreams, when I was brought sharply back to
full life by a ripple of hearty laughter.
“Gloat on!” said I complacently.
