“Oh no—­only sent her rolling down the hill in a barrel!” panted Cale; “it is a favourite pastime with the youths of London town.  One party will put a barrel ready in yon doorway on purpose, and if it be not removed, it will like enough be used ere morning.  We had best go in search of the poor creature; for ofttimes they are sore put to it to get free from the cask—­if they be stout in person at least.”

And, indeed, as they neared the foot of the hill, they heard a groaning and stifled crying for help; and, sure enough, they found a buxom woman, the wife of a respectable citizen, tightly wedged into the cask, and much shaken and bruised by her rapid transit down the hill, although, when released with some difficulty, she was able to walk home, escorted by her rescuers, and bitterly inveighing against the wickedness of the world in general and London’s young bullies in particular.

“The best thing, good dame, is not to be abroad at such an hour alone,” advised Cale.

“Yes, truly; and yet it was but the matter of a few streets; and it seems hard a woman may not sit beside a sick neighbour for a while without being served so on her way back.  My husband was to have come for me; but must have been detained.  Pray heaven he has not fallen in with a band of Mohocks, and had the nose of him split open—­to say nothing of worse!”

“Are men really served so bad as that?” asked Tom, as the two turned back from the citizen’s house whither they had escorted their grateful protegee.

“Worse sometimes,” answered Cale, with a shake of the head.  “Those Mohocks should be wiped out without mercy by the arm of the law; for mercy they show none.  They have read of the horrid cruelties practised by the Indians whose name they bear, and they seek to do the like to the hapless victims whom ill-fortune casts in their way.  There be men whose eyes they have gouged out, and whose noses have been cut off, whose brains have been turned by the terror and agony they have been through.  And yet these men go free; and law-abiding citizens are allowed to quake in their beds at the sound of their voices in the street, or the sight of their badges even in broad daylight.  I call it a sin and a shame that such things can be.  Well, well, well, let us hope that, when the great Duke comes home, he may be able to put a stop to these things.  Even in warfare, men say, he is merciful, and will permit no extortion and no cruelty.  We citizens of London will give him a right royal welcome; perchance we may be able to crave a boon of him in return.  He—­or, rather, his wife—­is all-powerful with our good Queen Anne; and she would not wish a hair of a man’s head hurt could she but have her way.”

“By the Duke you mean the great Duke of Marlborough, who has done such great things in the war?  But what is the war about?  Can you tell me that, for I have never rightly understood?”