"We'd better go up to the house at once, then," said William, leaving the spot.

"Stop a minute," called Edward, who had followed a sort of roughness in the grass into the hedge and found some of the offal lying there. They came up, and examined the spot, but found no clue. As they were leaving the field, however, John found a knife lying near the plank which crossed the ditch. He opened it, and handed it round.

"This is a rum knife,' ," he said, as he handed it to William. "Did you ever see such a thing?"

"It's precious like the old woman's which had three new blades, and two new handles. I say, Jem, do you know this knife?"

"I never seed it afore, Sir," replied the boy; "it ain't like any of our hands'."

After a few minutes the boy volunteered another remark.

"I doant think none of our people would have left their knives here, Sir."

66

Why, you fool," said William, "you don't think they left it here on purpose

?"

"Don't knoa, Sir, but I am sure it ain't none of our hands'."

Edward's attention was again aroused. He looked at the boy hard, and his eye quailed before him. As he moved on, he saw a cottage two fields up, and asked the boy whose it was.

"Mick Thompson's, Sir."

"I shall go there, and get a wash, before I go up

"Noa, you won't find him, I'm asure."

"How do you know that?" said Edward, looking

cottage, and found no

Edward looked at the

at the boy again, who made no answer. They now approached the one, just as the boy had said. windows, and saw that the house was empty. As he went round the garden, however, he observed a drop of blood upon the bricks under the pump, and pointed it out to his cousins. They assured him the cottage should be searched. "No time like the present," he replied, as he groped about, and looked everywhere. Time was now wearing on, and they were impatient to leave.

"One minute more and I will be with you," said Edward, pointing to a little open window in the gable close under the thatch. "I must just look in

there."

There, that will do. keep quiet. Now,

"But how are you to get up?" "Oh, give me your shoulder. Stand steady. Yes, here it is; let me down, and get up yourself." So saying, he helped William into the same position, and they now ascertained that the stolen sheep was hanging under the roof above.

Look, look, here's Thompson coming!" called John.

"Then we had better be off," answered William,

"before he sees us."

Edward was wiser however.

"It's too late now," he spoke in a lower tone, watching the boy, 66 you must catch him now or never."

The boy began whistling, and Thompson paused. "Hold your tongue, you young rascal," said Edward, shaking his fist over him, "or I won't leave a bone in your body. Take him behind John, and William and I will secure the fellow." Edward now went forward, and calling out boldly for water, showed his muddy hands and feet. Thompson came on without suspicion, and put his key in the door. It opened, and they followed him in. He stooped down for a bucket. Edward pushed him over, and in a minute the two lads had secured him with the wellrope.

"Keep that boy, John," said Edward, "I'm sure he's concerned. You'd better take him up, you and William, and I will wait here till you come."

"But how will you manage if he gets away?" they answered, pointing to Thompson.

"Oh, trust me for that; I'll give him some of his own knife if he stirs a peg. Do you know this knife, Thompson? It is not any of our hands', boy, is it?"

The boy's wits were no greater than his honesty.

C

He could say nothing. He pulled his hat over his eyes, and quietly followed the Blakes.

Old Blake was delighted. He praised Edward to the skies; and said, that "the cockneys were sharp enough, any how ;" and his nephew's superior cleverness and decision in this matter completely silenced his cousins, so that the eel-spearing was forgotten in the capture.

Mrs. Blake found fresh clothes; and an excellent breakfast, begun and concluded with old English ale, set everything straight; so that very soon all parties were ready to proceed with their prisoner to Squire Althorp's, the nearest magistrate.

Mr. Althorp was at home; and, at the other end of the library was a middle-aged man, in black, busily occupied with books and papers. The case for committal was made out; and the man and boy were soon handed over into the hands of the constable for safe custody. Before they left the room, however, the magistrate inquired whether either of them could read or write, and, being answered in the negative, he was about to dismiss the party when the visitor, at the other end of the room, requested leave to ask Mr. Blake a few questions after the prisoners were removed. Mr. Althorp at once assented; and Mr. Blake felt himself under the searching eye of a man evidently accustomed to read the characters of those with whom he had to deal.

"May I ask you, Sir," was the first question,

"whether you have any other hands on your farm whom you think connected with the prisoners?"

"I really can't say, Sir.
"Do you think it likely?"

Can't prove it."

Why, yes, like enough. There are several of them would not mind helping."

"Have you many men whom you would trust in your granary?"

Mr. Blake stared.

"Are there many of your men, Sir, who would not take your corn if they could get an opportunity?"

"No; that there ar'n't."

"How many do you employ?"

"About thirty hands altogether, Sir."

"And how many of them would you trust?"

of your men can read? Do you suppose half of them?"

"May be about half."

"Can they read well enough to read their Bibles?" "I really can't say, Sir; but I should think not." "Are you churchwarden, Sir?"