for him.

The Mohocks, intent upon their mischief, did not observe the coming
of the watchman. He was a little man, but must have been of some
mettle in his day, for, perceiving what is afoot, he toddles up in
his odd headlong gait, and laying his hand on the arm of one of the
roisterers, formally arrests him in the name of the mayor.

The fellow swings round at the touch, and bursts into a roar of
laughter. He was masked, as were all his companions; but I knew him
by his make to be Cyrus Vetch. Well, he laughs, and shakes off the
watchman's feeble grasp, and springing back, draws his sword; and
in another instant there was old Ben, the center of the group,
skipping this way and that to avoid their sword points, protesting,
threatening, appealing, escaping one merely to run upon another.

I will say this for them, that they intended to do him no harm;
their lunges were sportive and not in earnest; but diverting as the
sport was to them, it was the very contrary to the old man, whose
cries proclaimed that he thought his last hour was come.

All this happened in the space of a few moments. I was unwilling to
leave old Ben to the mercy of his tormentors while I ran for
assistance, as I was intending; yet it was clear I could do nothing
alone.

"John Kynaston," thinks I, "lives only a couple of hundred yards
away: he and I together might account for the ruffians."

I was just turning to make my way to Kynaston's house, when a cry