rook had never permitted it to be seen. Lucas, the keeper,
came in about an hour after dusk, and immediately took possession of it.

Such were the events of the first day after Joey's departure.
Notwithstanding that the snow fell fast, the Cat and Fiddle was, as it
may be supposed, unusually crowded on that night. Various were the
surmises as to the disappearance of the pedlar and of little Joey. The
keeper openly expressed his opinion that there was foul play somewhere,
and it was not until near midnight that the ale-house was deserted, and
the doors closed.

Rushbrook and his wife went to bed; tired with watching and excitement,
they found oblivion for a few hours in a restless and unrefreshing
sleep.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A CORONER'S INQUEST.

Day had scarcely dawned when the keeper and his satellites were again on
the search. The snow had covered the ground for three or four inches,
and, as the covers had been well examined on the preceding day, they now
left them and went on in the direction towards where the gun had been
picked up. This brought them direct to the furze bottom, where the dogs
appeared to quicken their movements, and when the keepers came up with
them again, they found them lying down by the frozen and stiffened
corpse of the pedlar.

"Murder, as I expected," said Lucas, as they lifted up the body, and
scraped off the snow which covered it; "right through his heart, poor
fellow; who would have expected this from such a little varmint? Look
about, my lads, and see if we can find anything else. What is Nap
scratching at?--a bag--take it up, Martin. Dick, do you go for some
people to take the body to the Cat and Fiddle, while we see if we can
find anything more."

In a quarter of an hour the people arrived, the body was carried away,
while the keeper went off in all haste to the authorities.

Furness, the schoolmaster, as soon as he had obtained the information,
hastened to Rushbrook's cottage, that he might be the first to convey
the intelligence. Rushbrook, however, from the back of the cottage, had
perceived the people carrying in the body, and was prepared.

"My good people, I am much distressed, but it must be told; believe me,
I feel for you--your son, my pupil, has murdered the pedlar."

"Impossible!" cried Rushbrook.

"It is but too true; I cannot imagine how a boy, brought up under my
tuition--nay, Mrs Rushbrook, don't cry--brought up, I may say, with
such strict notio