“There goes a man who is thrusting his head into the lion’s mouth, and in less than a week he will meet a traitor’s death, or suffer imprisonment for life at the hulks.  He has been marked and watched for months, and be assured that the commissioner will not let him escape.  Well, it is no business of mine.”  And Mr. Brown refilled his pipe, and threw his weary form upon a mattress, an example that I was not slow to follow.

It was late in the afternoon when we awoke, refreshed and ready for work, but as business was not very brisk, we walked about the town until supper time.

Mr. Brown and myself strolled towards Gravel Pit Hill, and to our surprise saw a large body of men, armed with rifles, shot guns, and old muskets of the most antique description, going through a dress parade, as military men would call it, although candor compels me to confess that the costumes were not of the most recherche description, as no two were dressed alike, and no two held their guns in the same position.

“What is going on?” I asked of a fellow who stood looking at the scene with open mouth.

“Can’t you see for yourselves?” was the prompt reply, and the answer was delivered without deigning to turn his head.

“You might be civil, at any rate,” I replied, half a mind to kick him for his impertinence to us.

“Don’t come round ’ere bothering me, young men,” said the fellow, with a wave of his hand, as though desirous of cutting short the conversation.

I thought that I recognized the voice, although I was not certain.  Neither had I seen the fellow’s face, except by profile, so I just laid a hand upon his shoulder, gave him a whirl and brought him to the right about face.  My suspicions were verified; I stood face to face with my old rascally friend, Steel Spring.

“Why, you scamp, where did you come from?” I asked.

“That’s the vay vid the vorld,” the fellow said, putting one hand to his eyes as though overcome by the unexpected interview; “a covey tries to be honest, and get a honest livin’, but up comes somebody vot has been concerned vid him in the grab line, and insists upon being acquainted.  I’ll leave this ’ere country, I vill.”

“Why, you rascal!” exclaimed the ex-inspector, “I’ve a good mind to lock you up until you eat humble pie for six weeks to come.”

“No, you don’t,” replied Steel Spring, with a chuckle, “’cos you ain’t inspector no more, no how, and you can’t lock a covey up, and you know it.”

“He has you there, Mr. Brown,” I remarked, and it pleased Steel Spring so much that he condescended to regard us with a little more favor.

“If he has,” replied Mr. Brown, “I’ve got him on another tack that would give him trouble.  Come, tell us what you are doing here.”

“Can’t you see?” he answered, impudently.  “I’m looking at that awkward squad of miners drilling, and pretty bad vork they make of it.”