'adn't ha' been for the sack 'e could 'ave got clear away.

As it was, 'e ran for pretty near a mile, and they could 'ear 'im
breathing like a pair o' bellows; but at last 'e saw that the game was
up. He just man-aged to struggle as far as Farmer Pinnock's pond, and
then, waving the sack round his 'ead, 'e flung it into the middle of it,
and fell down gasping for breath.

"Got--you--this time--Bob Pretty," ses one o' the men, as they came up.

"Wot--Mr. Cutts?" ses Bob, with a start. "That's me, my man," ses the
keeper.

"Why--I thought--you was. Is that Mr. Lewis? It can't be."

"That's me," ses Keeper Lewis. "We both got well sudden-like, Bob
Pretty, when we 'eard you was out. You ain't so sharp as you thought you
was."

Bob Pretty sat still, getting 'is breath back and doing a bit o' thinking
at the same time.

"You give me a start," he ses, at last. "I thought you was both in bed,
and, knowing 'ow hard worked Mr. Smith 'as been, I just came round to
'elp 'im keep watch like. I promised to 'elp you, Mr. Cutts, if you
remember."

"Wot was that you threw in the pond just now?" ses Mr. Cutts.

"A sack," ses Bob Pretty; "a sack I found in Farmer Hall's field. It