Leaning
from the window, I made out the form of a somewhat disreputable
urchin, who, dropping upon hands and knees, proceeded to crawl
towards me over the grass with a show of the most elaborate caution.
"Hallo!" I exclaimed, "halt and give the counter-sign!" The urchin
sat up on his heels and stared at me with a pair of very round,
bright eyes.
"Please, are you Mr. Uncle Dick?" he inquired.
"Oh," I said, "you come from the Imp, I presume." The boy nodded a
round head, at the same time fumbling with something in his pocket.
"And whom may you be?" I inquired, conversationally.
"I'm Ben, I am."
"The gardener's boy?" Again the round head nodded acquiescence, as
with much writhing and twisting he succeeded in drawing a
heterogeneous collection of articles from his pocket, whence he
selected a very dirty and crumpled piece of paper.
"He wants a ladder so's he can git out, but it's too big fer me to
lift, so he told me to give you this here so's you would come an'
rescue him - please, Mr. Uncle Dick." With which lucid explanation
Ben handed me the crumpled note.
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