they hung. And first giving them a doubtful shake, as seeming lighter
than he expected, and hearing no chink of money, he thrusts his hand
into one pocket, and then into the other, and cries in dismay: "Heaven's
mercy upon us; we are robbed! Every penny of our money is gone!"

"Can you think of nothing better than such an idle story as that?" says
the landlord. "There hath been none behind this sheet but yourselves all
the night."

We could make no reply to this, but stood gaping at each other in a maze
for some seconds; then Jack Dawson, recovering his wits, turns him
round, and looking about, cries: "Why, where's Ned Herring?"

"If you mean him as was killed in your play," says the landlord, "I'll
answer for it he's not far off; for, to my knowledge, he was in the
house drinking with a man while you were a-dancing of your antics like a
fool. And I only hope you may be as honest a man as he, for he paid for
his liquor like a gentleman."

That settled the question, for we knew the constable had left never a
penny in his pocket when he clapt us in the stocks.

"Well," says Jack, "he has our money, as you may prove by searching us,
and if you have faith in him 'tis all as one, and you may rest easy for
your reckoning being paid against his return."

The landlord went off, vowing he would take the law of us if he were not
paid by the morning; and we, as soon as we had shuffled on our clothes,
away to hunt for Ned, thinking that maybe he had made off with the money
to avoid paying half to the landlord, and hoping always that, though he