Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. His foot touched the rounded edge of the starling, and glanced off, precipitating him into the water. " "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. ‘You will arrest me? For—for—’ ‘Trespass, theft and spying,’ snapped Hilary. If you noticed, our house is fairly close to the road. CHAPTER IV.
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