ower yan o' his weakest creeturs!'

Smike opened his mouth to speak, but John Browdie stopped him.

'Stan' still,' said the Yorkshireman, 'and doant'ee speak a morsel o'
talk till I tell'ee.'

With this caution, John Browdie shook his head significantly, and
drawing a screwdriver from his pocket, took off the box of the lock in
a very deliberate and workmanlike manner, and laid it, together with the
implement, on the floor.

'See thot?' said John 'Thot be thy doin'. Noo, coot awa'!'

Smike looked vacantly at him, as if unable to comprehend his meaning.

'I say, coot awa',' repeated John, hastily. 'Dost thee know where thee
livest? Thee dost? Weel. Are yon thy clothes, or schoolmeasther's?'

'Mine,' replied Smike, as the Yorkshireman hurried him to the adjoining
room, and pointed out a pair of shoes and a coat which were lying on a
chair.

'On wi' 'em,' said John, forcing the wrong arm into the wrong sleeve,
and winding the tails of the coat round the fugitive's neck. 'Noo,
foller me, and when thee get'st ootside door, turn to the right, and
they wean't see thee pass.'

'But--but--he'll hear me shut the door,' replied Smike, trembling from
head to foot.

'Then dean't shut it at all,' retorted John Browdie. 'Dang it, thee
bean't afeard o' schoolmeasther's takkin cold, I hope?'

'N-no,' said Smike, his teeth chattering in his head. 'But he brought me
back before, and will again. He will, he will indeed.'

'He wull, he wull!' replied John impatiently. 'He wean't, he wean't.
Look'ee! I wont to do this neighbourly loike, and let them think thee's
gotten awa' o' theeself, but if he cooms oot o' thot parlour awhiles
theer't clearing off, he mun' have mercy on his oun boans, for I wean't.
If he foinds it oot, soon efther, I'll put 'un on a wrong scent, I
warrant 'ee. But if thee keep'st a good hart, thee'lt be at whoam afore
they know thee'st gotten off. Coom!'

Smike, who comprehended just enough of this to know it was intended
as encouragement, prepared to follow with tottering steps, when John
whispered in his ear.

'Thee'lt just tell yoong Measther that I'm sploiced to 'Tilly Price, and
to be heerd on at the Saracen by latther, and that I bean't jealous of
'un--dang it, I'm loike to boost when I think o' that neight! 'Cod, I
think I see 'un now, a powderin' awa' at the thin bread an' butther!'

It was rather a ticklish recollection for John just then, for he was
within an ace of breaking out into a loud g