"Would you give me the time?" said the sergeant, addressing himself to

Mr. Pumblechook, as to a man whose appreciative powers justified the

inference that he was equal to the time.

"It's just gone half past two."

"That's not so bad," said the sergeant, reflecting; "even if I was

forced to halt here nigh two hours, that'll do. How far might you call

yourselves from the marshes, hereabouts? Not above a mile, I reckon?"

"Just a mile," said Mrs. Joe.

"That'll do. We begin to close in upon 'em about dusk. A little before

dusk, my orders are. That'll do."

"Convicts, sergeant?" asked Mr. Wopsle, in a matter-of-course way.

"Ay!" returned the sergeant, "two. They're pretty well known to be out

on the marshes still, and they won't try to get clear of 'em before

dusk. Anybody here seen anything of any such game?"

Everybody, myself excepted, said no, with confidence. Nobody thought of

me.

"Well!" said the sergeant, "they'll find themselves trapped in a circle,

I expect, sooner than they count on. Now, blacksmith! If you're ready,

his Majesty the King is."

Joe had got his coat and waistcoat and cravat off, and his leather apron

on, and passed into the forge. One of the soldiers opened its wooden

windows, another lighted the fire, another turned to at the bellows, the

rest stood round the blaze, which was soon roaring. Then Joe began to

hammer and clink, hammer and clink, and we all looked on.

The interest of the impending pursuit not only absorbed the general

attention, but even made my sister liberal. She drew a pitcher of beer

from the cask for the soldiers, and invited the sergeant to take a glass

of brandy. But Mr. Pumblechook said, sharply, "Give him wine, Mum. I'll

engage there's no Tar in that:" so, the sergeant thanked him and said

that as he preferred his drink without tar, he would take wine, if it

was equally convenient. When it was given him, he drank his Majesty's

health and compliments of the season, and took it all at a mouthful and

smacked his lips.

"Good stuff, eh, sergeant?" said Mr. Pumblechook.

"I'll tell you something," returned the sergeant; "I suspect that

stuff's of your providing."

Mr. Pumblechook, with a fat sort of laugh, said, "Ay, ay? Why?"

"Because," returned the sergeant, clapping him on the shoulder, "you're

a man that knows what's what."

"D'ye think so?" said Mr. Pumblechook, with his former laugh. "Have

another glass!"




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