Part 48 (1/2)
”Dear me! you are running!” said Adela, who hadn't got it into her head what for, as she didn't connect the scream with any of their party. And she walked just as fast as she could to catch up with them. As that was impossible, she gave a hasty glance around the shrubbery, and seeing no one to notice her, she broke out into a lively run.
”Yes, Phronsie,” Grandpapa was saying, as the young people had left them, and the others had wandered off to enjoy the quiet, shady paths, ”this place was the old Foret de Rouvray. It wasn't a very pretty place to come to in those days, what with the robbers and other bad people who infested it. And now let us go and find a seat, child, and I'll show you one or two little pictures I picked up in the shop this morning; and you can send them in your next letter, to Joel and David, if you like.”
Old Mr. King took out his pocket-book, and had just opened it, when a man darted out from the thick shrubbery behind him, cast a long, searching glance around, and quick as lightning, threw himself against the stately old gentleman, and seized the pocket-book.
It was then that Phronsie screamed long and loud.
”What ho!” exclaimed Mr. King, starting around to do battle; but the man was just disappearing around the clump of shrubbery.
”Which way?” Tom Selwyn dashed up. It didn't seem as if Phronsie's cry had died on her lips.
Old Mr. King pointed without a word. And Polly and Jasper were close at hand. Polly flew to Phronsie, who was clinging to Grandpapa's hand, and wailing bitterly. ”What is it? Oh! what is it?” cried Polly.
”My pocket-book,” said Grandpapa; ”some fellow has seized it, and frightened this poor child almost to death.” He seemed to care a great deal more about that than any loss of the money.
”Which way?” cried Jasper, in his turn, and was off like a shot on getting his answer.
Tom saw the fellow slink with the manner of one who knew the ins and outs of the place well,--now gliding, and ducking low in the spa.r.s.er growth, now making a bold run around some exposed curve, now das.h.i.+ng into a dense part of the wood.
”I'll have you yet!” said Tom, through set teeth; ”I haven't trained at school for nothing!”
A thud of fast-flying feet in his rear didn't divert him an instant from his game, although it might be a rescue party for the thief, in the shape of a partner,--who could tell? And realising, if he caught the man at all, he must do one of his sprints, he covered the ground by a series of flying leaps,--dashed in where he saw his prey rush; one more leap with all his might, and--”I have you!” cried Tom.
The man under him, thrown to the ground by the suddenness of Tom's leap on him, was wriggling and squirming with all the desperation of a trapped creature, when the individual with the flying footsteps hove in sight. It was Jasper. And they had just persuaded the robber that it would be useless to struggle longer against his fate, when the parson, running as he hadn't run for years, appeared to their view. And after him, at such a gait that would have been his fortune, in a professional way, was the little doctor. His hat was gone, and his toes scarcely seemed to touch the ground. He was last at the scene, simply because the news had only just reached him as he sauntered leisurely up to meet Mr. King in his promenade.
When the thief saw him, he looked to see if any more were coming, and resigned himself at once and closed his eyes instinctively.
He was a miserable-looking man--tall, thin, and stoop shouldered--they saw, when they got him on his feet. Unkempt and unwashed, his long, black hair hung around a face sallow in the extreme. And he shook so, as Tom and Jasper marched him back, escorted by the body-guard of the parson and the little doctor, that the two boys put their hands under his arms to help him along.
”Well--well--well!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. King, as he saw this array. Polly gathered Phronsie's other hand in hers, while she clung closer than ever to Grandpapa.
”Here's your pocket-book,” said Tom, handing the article over; ”he hasn't spent much.”
”Don't, Tom,” said Jasper, ”joke about it.”
”Can't help it,” said Tom. ”Well, now, shall we turn him over to the _sergents de ville?”_
”Turn him over?” repeated Mr. King. ”I should say so,” he added drily, ”and give him the best recommendation for a long term, too. What else is there to do, pray tell?”
”Grandpapa,” suddenly cried Phronsie, who hadn't taken her eyes from the man's face, ”what are you going to do--where is he going?”
”We are going to hand him over to the police, child,” answered old Mr.
King, harshly. ”And as soon as possible, too.”
”Grandpapa, perhaps he's got some little children at home; ask him, Grandpapa, do.”
”No, no, Phronsie,” said Mr. King, hastily. ”Say no more, child; you don't understand. We must call the _sergents de ville.”_