When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. ‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men. A boy attempted to follow; but as the suspicions of the lookers-on were roused by the previous circumstances, the younger fugitive was seized and detained. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. In a sense I don’t care.
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