"I wasn' thinkin' of the wind," said he. "I take no account of the elements, for my part. Never did; and now never shall--havin' been born up to Bodmin, where the prison is." "Oh!" said Nicky-Nan suspiciously. "What's it like?" "Bodmin?" Policeman Rat-it-all seemed to reflect for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't just say it's altogether _like_ any place in particular. There's a street, of course, . . . and there's the prison, and the barracks, and an asylum where they keep the lunatics, and a workhouse and what-not. But if you put to me, in so many words, what it's _like_--" "I--I meant the prison," explained Nicky-Nan; that being the only feature of Bodmin in which he felt any instant concern. "It's a place," answered Policeman Rat-it-all with painful lucidity, "where they shut people up. Sometimes there's an execution. But not often; not very often; once in a while, as you might say. There's a monument, too,--upon a hill they call the Beacon. I'm very fond of Bodmin. It's the County Town, you know; and with these little things going on, in one way and another, why, that enlarges the mind." "Does it so?" asked Nicky-Nan, a trifle puzzled. "It do indeed," the constable assured him with conviction. "Take _me_, now, at this present moment, for instance. You comes upon me suddent, and what do you catch me doin'? You catches me,"--here his voice became impressive--"you catches me lookin' up at the sky. And why am I lookin' up at the sky? It is to say to you, 'Nicholas Nanjivell, the wind is sot in the sou'-west?'" "Not if you expect me to believe 'ee. 'Tisn' a point off north-an-by-west." "--Or," the constable continued, lifting a hand, "is it to say to you, 'It is sot in the _north-west_,' as the case may be? Or is it I was wastin' the day in idleness, same as some persons I could mention in the Force if there wasn' such a thing as discipline? Not so. I was lookin' up in the execution of my duty. An' what do you suppose I was lookin' for?" "I'm sure I can't tell 'ee," answered Nicky-Nan after a painful effort at guessing. "It couldn' be for obscene language; nor yet for drunks." Policeman Rat-it-all leant forward and touched him on the top button of his waistcoat. "Zepp-a-lins!" he said mysteriously. "Eh?" "Zepp-a-lins!" "Oh!"--Nicky-Nan's brow cleared--"You mean them German balloon things the papers make so much fuss about." "Die-rigitable," added Rat-it-all. "That's the point." "Well? . . . Have 'ee seen any?" Nicky-Nan lifted his gaze skyward. "I won't go so far as to say that I've seen anything answerin' to that description knockin' about--not up to the present. But these are times when a man must keep his eyes liftin' if he doesn' want Old England to be taken with what the newspapers call a Bolt from the Blue." "I've come across the expression," said Nicky-Nan.