“Oh, which way did they go?” cried Jem, “I’ll run after them.” “No, no,” said the lady, calling to her servant; and she desired him to take his horse and ride after them. “Ay,” added Farmer Truck, “do you take the road, and I’ll take the field way, and I’ll be bound we’ll have ’em presently.” Whilst they were gone in pursuit of the thieves, the lady, who was now thoroughly convinced of Jem’s truth, desired her coachman would produce what she had ordered him to bring with him that evening. Out of the boot of the carriage the coachman immediately produced a new saddle and bridle. How Jem’s eyes sparkled when the saddle was thrown upon Lightfoot’s back! “Put it on your horse yourself, Jem,” said the lady; “it is yours.” Confused reports of Lightfoot’s splendid accoutrements, of the pursuit of thieves, and of the fine and generous lady who was standing at Dame Preston’s window, quickly spread through the village, and drew everybody from their houses. They crowded round Jem to hear the story. The children especially, who were fond of him, expressed the strongest indignation against the thieves. Every eye was on the stretch; and now some, who had run down the lane, came back shouting, “Here they are! they’ve got the thieves!” The footman on horseback carried one boy before him; and the farmer, striding along, dragged another. The latter had on a red jacket, which little Jem immediately recollected, and scarcely dared lift his eyes to look at the boy on horseback. “Good God!” said he to himself, “it must be—yet surely it can’t be Lawrence!” The footman rode on as fast as the people would let him. The boy’s hat was slouched, and his head hung down, so that nobody could see his face. At this instant there was a disturbance in the crowd. A man who was half drunk pushed his way forwards, swearing that nobody should stop him; that he had a right to see—and he _would_ see. And so he did; for, forcing through all resistance, he staggered up to the footman just as he was lifting down the boy he had carried before him. “I _will_—I tell you I _will_ see the thief!” cried the drunken man, pushing up the boy’s hat. It was his own son. “Lawrence!” exclaimed the wretched father. The shock sobered him at once, and he hid his face in his hands. There was an awful silence. Lawrence fell on his knees, and in a voice that could scarcely be heard made a full confession of all the circumstances of his guilt. “Such a young creature so wicked!” the bystanders exclaimed; “what could put such wickedness in your head?” “Bad company,” said Lawrence. “And how came you—what brought you into bad company?” “I don’t know, except it was idleness.”