“And wot abart my burds?” retorted the man, in jeering anger. “Yer’ll ’ave ter pay me for every damned one of ’em before I lets ’er go. I don’t know as I’ll let her go then--taken a kind o’ fancy to ’er, I ’ave. I’ll put ’er in a cage and keep ’er, that’s wot I’ll do. Now then, all yer money. ’And over that watch. Fork h’out.” “Put her down.” He looked round wildly. Hal’s warnings of danger then, they hadn’t been all inventions! Far off, at the end of the field, he-saw the real culprit, Bones, slipping through the hedge into the road. Along the road something was passing; he made out the top of a cart above the brambles. He thought of shouting; if he did, the man might kill Desire. At that moment she freed her mouth: “Teddy! Oh, Teddy!” He threw himself upon the ruffian, kicking and punching. The man let her go and turned upon the boy. “Yer’ve brought this on yerself, my son, and now yer go in’ ter ’ave it.” He stepped up furiously, his hand stretched out to seize him by the throat. The fingers were on the point of touching; there was a thud. The thick arm hesitated and fell limply. On the man’s forehead a red wound spread. “My-Gawd!” His body crumpled. It sank into the grass and lay without a motion. “Is he dead?” Desire whispered. “No fear. It ’ud take more than a stone to kill him. Come on, you kids, let’s run for it.” They turned. Standing behind them in the evening quiet was a Puck-like figure. He was broad, and short, and grinning, and cocky. He wore a midshipman’s suit with brass buttons, which looked dusty and spotty. He had red hair, and was a miniature edition of Mrs. Sheerug. “Why, Ruddy,” gasped Teddy, “where did you spring from?” “Where didn’t I spring from? Ha! Get away from him and I’ll tell you. He’s stirring.” The bird-catcher was struggling into a sitting position. He glared evilly at the children. “You just wait till I get yer,” he muttered. “Skin yer, that’s wot I’ll do. Boil yer. Tear every----” They didn’t wait to hear more of what he would do. Each taking a hand of the little girl, they started to run--ran on and on across twilit meadows, till the staggering figure of the man who followed and the sound of his threats had utterly died out. CHAPTER XIX--THE HIGH HORSE OF ROMANCE You’re a kind of Bible boy, aren’t you? They were resting on the edge of a wood, half hidden in bracken, recovering their breath. Oak-trees, overhanging them, made an archway. Behind, down green fern-carpeted aisles, mysterious paths led into the unknown. In front a vague sea of meadows stretched, with wild flowers for foam and wheat-fields for sands. In the misty distance the window of a cottage caught the sunset and glowed like the red lamp of a ship which rode at anchor.