Other boys soon joined, and surrounded the vehicle, shouting and laughing.  The old lady, made several ineffectual attempts to get out of the chair.  She called out, “A plot! a plot! a Popery plot!  No Popery!  Oh!  I shall be killed!” and many such exclamations.  The populace took this as a part of the character, and laughed most heartily.  The greatest number of persons thought the guy to be a boy dressed up, and cried out that he acted his part well.  No one suspected it was old Dame Clackett.

Away they went in the midst of the hubbub, up one street and down another, over the market-place and by the church.  Just as the clock struck twelve the boys of the Free School came from the latter place, and joined the procession.  It was now a national affair, and, as it proceeded from the church doors, it was thought to be the church Guy Fawkes—­and so it was.

“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted a hundred voices; and while Hardy and his companions held on the chair, Quidd and I went about with our hats to collect as much money as we could.

The old lady was vociferous, and struggled to get out.  She flung her arms about, and cried out, “Deliver me from the flames!  Save me from being burnt!” and everybody thought that the part of guy was acted to perfection.

Quidd and I got a great deal of money—­silver, and copper, and even gold.  Seven-shilling pieces were in circulation at that time, and the squire and Mr. Hassock passing us, one threw sixpence and the other a seven-shilling piece to us, for which we gave a louder cheer than usual.  In short, our hats were very nearly half full of money.

The old woman began to be more pacified as she saw the money coming in, particularly as we put it all into her lap, and told her it should be hers.  But the sight of the squire and the curate, and the seven-shilling piece, which latter we put into her mouth, seemed quite to reconcile her to her fate.  She became then as gentle as a lamb.  She said: 

“Do as you like—­do as you like, only don’t burn me for a guy; and give me a drop of something to drink.”

“Oh yes,” said Quidd, “here is something for you.  Hold up your head.”

And half a pint of good strong ale soon found its way down the throat of the dame.  After this the chair again moved on, till at last it came to the market-place, opposite the Town Hall, where an enormous bonfire was in preparation, over which stood a gallows.

The old lady, when she saw the gallows, screamed “Murder! fire! brimstone!” and all sorts of horrid cries; but nobody took any heed of it, except to laugh.  They thought it was in keeping with her character.

“We will not hurt you, we will not hurt you,” said I.

But it was of no use; the old lady refused to be pacified.

Just at this moment Quidd felt a severe blow from behind, which sent him sprawling.  I also received a push or a drive, and a loud laugh burst from those around.