Where was it going? What did it matter where it went so long as he went with it? But--the sudden thought was like a blow--that was just what did matter! They would find him lying there, and they would give him to the police, and the police would do something to him. He knew all about that, because they had done something to him once already for taking an apple off a stall in the market place. He had only taken one, but they had given him six strokes, and in spite of the cold and the pain in his left leg he still remembered just what they were like. Perhaps he ought to jump for it. No, that was impossible with his leg like that; the wagon was going too fast. He had better lie quiet and slip out as soon as the wagon stopped at a station. He burrowed far down into the sacks once more, for the sake of the warmth, and after a while he went to sleep again. And then he had a dream that filled him with terror. The police had found him. The police had found him in the wagon. He awoke with a start. Rough hands were shaking him. Yes, it was perfectly true! "Kim up ... you!" It was the voice of the police. He turned over with a whimper and lifted up his head, only to drop it instantly. He had been blinded by the glare of a lantern held six inches from his eyes. "Well, damn me," a great, roaring voice surged into his ears. "Here, Ike!" "What's up now?" said a second voice, roaring like the first. "Come and look at this." The boy dug his head into the sacks. "What's up?" said voice the second. "What about it? Must ha' got in at Blackhampton." "Well, damn me." The boy burrowed deeper and deeper into the sacks. "Here, come out of it." The owner of the first voice took him by the ear and dragged him out of the wagon. "What's yer name?" No answer. His captor shook him roughly. "Enry Arper," whimpered the boy. "Enry what?" "Enry Arper." "Enry Arper, is it? Well, you are going to have something to 'arp for, you are, my lad." "Ever had the birch rod, Mister Enry Arper?" inquired the first voice with a kind of grim pleasantness. The boy didn't answer. "No? Not had that pleasure? The police are going to cut the skin off o' you and sarve you right. They'll larn you to trespass on to the railway. Fetch the foreman, Ike." While the boy, securely held by the ear, stood shivering, Ike went leisurely in search of the foreman shunter. It was six o'clock, and that individual, who had been on duty since that hour the previous evening, was on the point of going home. Ike found him in the messroom, where he had gone to exchange his lantern for the small wicker basket in which he brought his meals. His name was Job Lorimer, and being large and fat and florid he sauntered up to the scene of action with an air of frank acceptance of life as it is, that seems to go as a rule with his type of physique and countenance. "Why, blow me, Iggins, what's all this year?"