Alfred Burghe started and turned to run.  But the gentleman was too quick to let him escape, and caught him by the arm.

“What, sir!  Mr. Middleton, would you search me at his bidding?  Search the son of Commodore Burghe at the bidding of—­nobody’s son?” exclaimed the youth, struggling to free himself, while the blood seemed ready to burst from his red and swollen face.

“For your vindication, young sir!  For your vindication,” replied Mr. Middleton, proceeding to turn out the young gentleman’s pockets, when lo! oranges, figs, and nuts rolled upon the ground.

“It is infamous—­so it is!” exclaimed Master Alfred, mad with shame and rage.

“Yes, it is infamous,” sternly replied Mr. Middleton.

“I mean it is infamous to treat a commodore’s son in this way!”

“And I mean it is infamous in anybody’s son to behave as you have, sir!”

“I bought the things at Nutt’s shop!  I bought them with my own money!  They are mine!  I never touched your things.  That fellow did!  He took them, and then told falsehoods about it.”

“Sir,” said Ishmael, “if you will examine that bundle, lying under that bush, you will find something there to prove which of us two speaks the truth.”

Master Alfred made a dash for the bundle; but again Mr. Middleton was too quick for him, and caught it up.  It was a red bandanna silk handkerchief stuffed full of parcels and tied at the corners.  The handkerchief had the name of Alfred Burghe on one corner; the small parcel of nuts and raisins it contained were at once recognized by Mr. Middleton as his own.

“Oh, sir, sir!” began that gentleman severely, turning upon the detected culprit; but the young villain was at bay!

“Well?” he growled in defiance; “what now? what’s all the muss about?  Those parcels were what I took off his person when he was running away with them.  Didn’t I, Ben?”

Ben grumbled some inaudible answer, which Alfred assumed to be assent, for he immediately added: 

“And I tied them up in my handkerchief to give them back to you.  Didn’t I, Ben?”

Ben mumbled something or other.

“And then I beat him for stealing.  Didn’t I, Ben?”

“Yes, you beat him,” sulkily answered the younger brother.

Mr. Middleton gazed at the two boys in amazement; not that he entertained the slightest doubt of the innocence of Ishmael and the guilt of Alfred, but that he was simply struck with consternation at this instance of hardened juvenile depravity.

“Sir,” continued the relentless young prosecutor, “if you will please to question Master Ben, I think he will tell you the truth.  He has not told a downright story yet.”

“What! why he has been corroborating his brother’s testimony all along!” said Mr. Middleton.

“Only as to the assault, sir; not as to the theft.  Please question him, sir, to finish this business.”