his wit and allowed it to appear.

But by this time Robinson was on his balance again. "Gentlemen,"
answered he with cold dignity, "what am I to understand by this
violence from persons to whom I am an utter stranger?" and he might
have set for the picture of injured innocence. "I am not acquainted
with you, sir," added he; "and by the titles you give me it seems you
are not acquainted with me."

The police laughed, and took out of this injured man's pocket the
stolen notes which Meadows instantly identified.

Then Mr. Robinson started off into another key equally artistical in
its way.

"Miss Merton," snuffled he, "appearances are against me, but mark my
words, my innocence will emerge all the brighter for this temporary
cloud."

Susan Merton ran indoors, saying, "Oh! I must tell George." She was
not sorry of an excuse to be by George's side, and remind him by her
presence that if home had its thorns it had its rose tree, too.

News soon spreads; rustic heads were seen peeping over the wall to see
the finale of the fine gentleman from "Lunnun." Meantime the constable
went to put his horse in a four-wheeled chaise destined to convey
Robinson to the county jail.

If the rural population expected to see this worthy discomposed by so
sudden a change of fortune, they were soon undeceived.