their arms and screaming up at the roof of the end house.
Emily and Lettie drew back.
“Look there—it’s that little beggar, Sam!” said George.
There, sure enough, perched on the ridge of the roof against the end chimney, was the young imp, coatless, his shirt-sleeves torn away from the cuffs. I knew his bright, reddish young head in a moment. He got up, his bare toes clinging to the tiles, and spread out his fingers fanwise from his nose, shouting something, which immediately caused the crowd to toss with indignation, and the women to shriek again. Sam sat down suddenly, having almost lost his balance.
The village constable hurried up, his thin neck stretching out of his tunic, and demanded the cause of the hubbub.
Immediately a woman with bright brown squinting eyes, and a birthmark on her cheek, rushed forward and seized the policeman by the sleeve.
“Ta’e ’im up, ta’e ’im up, an’ birch ’im till ’is bloody back’s raw,” she screamed.
The thin policeman shook her off, and wanted to know what was the matter.
“I’ll smosh ’im like a rotten tater,” cried the woman, “if I can lay ’ands on ’im. ’E’s not fit ter live nowhere where there’s decent folks—the thievin’, brazen little devil——” thus she went on.
“But what’s up!” interrupted the thin constable, “what’s up wi’ ’im?”
“Up—it’s ’im as ’is up, an’ let ’im wait till I get ’im down. A crafty little——”
