When Peter and his uncle had obeyed orders, the cab was backed up against the tall doors which gave entrance to the yard of the stable. “Get h'up on the roof o' me keb, climb onter the top o' the doors and see if yer kin drop h'over.” Mr. Grace spoke gruffly. Ocky did as he was bidden but, either through timidity or weakness, failed to scramble from the cab on to the top of the doors. Mr. Grace growled impatiently and muttered something explosive at each failure. Now that he was in mid-act of contriving against the law, he was anxious to be rid of the adventure. Ocky excused himself humbly. “I'm not the man I was. I've had my troubles.” “To 'ell with yer troubles! They cawn't be no worse'n mine; if yer want ter know wot trouble is, taik a week o' bein' father ter my darter---- Kum on, Peter, you and me's got ter chuck 'im h'over.” Standing on the roof of the cab, they each caught hold of a leg and hoisted. Ocky protested, but up he went, till in desperation he clutched at the doors and sat balancing astride them. Now that he had something to do, Mr. Grace's cheerfulness returned. “Like bringin' 'ome the family wash, ain't it, Peter?” Then, to Ocky threateningly, “Nar Bill Sykes, yer've got ter tumble darn t'other side; I'm goin' ter drar awye me keb.” Ocky said he'd break his legs--he might need them, so he didn't want to do that. He lay along the narrow ledge like a man unused to riding, clinging to a horse's neck. “Awright, yer force me to it.” Mr. Grace spoke sadly with a kind of it-hurts-me-more than-it-does-you air. Peter was told to get down. Mr. Grace having driven away a few paces, dropped the reins and stepped on to the roof, whip in hand. “Me and Peter is good pals. Peter says ter me, 'My uncle's swiped somefing. The cops is after 'im.' 'Righto,' I says. Now h'it appears yer don't want ter be saved; but h'I've give me word and h'I'm goin' ter do it.---- Are yer going' h'over?” Mr. Grace brought his whip down lightly across Ocky's legs; his humor made him a humane man. Ocky squirmed, lost his balance and disappeared, all except his hands which clung desperately. Once again the whip came down and a muffled thud was heard. Mr. Grace took his seat on the box and gathered up the reins. “Any more h'orders, sir?” he asked of Peter. “Keb. Keb. Keb.---- Thirsty work, Master Peter. Poor chap lost 'is nerve; 'e needed a little stimerlant. We h'all do sometimes.” But when Peter tried to pay Mr. Grace, he refused indignantly. “H'I h'ain't like some folks as would rob a work 'ouse child o' its breakfust. Wot I done I done fer love o' you, Master Peter. You buy that little gal o' yours a present.” Then, because he didn't want to be thought a good man, he spoke angrily. “H'I've got ter be drunk ter-night. Yer've wasted enough o' me time awready. Kum h'up 'ere beside me h'at once and I'll drive yer 'ome.”