By this time Eliza had opened the door, and we thought it best to take
him in without any more parlaying. To parley with a prisoner is not
done by bandits.

Directly we got him safe into the nursery, H. O. began to jump about and
say, 'Now you're a prisoner really and truly!'

And Albert-next-door began to cry. He always does. I wonder he didn't
begin long before--but Alice fetched him one of the dried fruits we gave
Father for his birthday. It was a green walnut. I have noticed the
walnuts and the plums always get left till the last in the box; the
apricots go first, and then the figs and pears; and the cherries, if
there are any.

So he ate it and shut up. Then we explained his position to him, so
that there should be no mistake, and he couldn't say afterwards that he
had not understood.

'There will be no violence,' said Oswald--he was now Captain of the
Bandits, because we all know H. O. likes to be Chaplain when we play
prisoners--'no violence. But you will be confined in a dark,
subterranean dungeon where toads and snakes crawl, and but little of the
light of day filters through the heavily mullioned windows. You will be
loaded with chains. Now don't begin again, Baby, there's nothing to cry
about; straw will be your pallet; beside you the gaoler will set a
ewer--a ewer is only a jug, stupid; it won't eat you--a ewer with water;
and a mouldering crust will be your food.'

But Albert-next-door never enters into the spirit of a thing. He
mumbled something about tea-time.