Meadows, under stronger interests, had forgotten Robinson; but now at sight of him he looked round, and catching the eye of a man who was peering over the farmyard wall, made him a signal.

“What is the matter?” cried Robinson.

“George is going to Australia,” replied Merton, coldly.

“Australia!” roared Robinson—­“Australia!  He’s mad.  Who ever goes there unless they are forced?  He shan’t go there!  I wouldn’t go there if my passage was paid, and a new suit of clothes given me, and the governor’s gig to take me ashore to a mansion provided for my reception, fires lighted, beds aired and pipes laid across upon the table.”

As Robinson concluded this tirade the policeman and constable, who had crept round the angle of the farm-house, came one on each side, put each a hand on one of his elbows and—­took him!

He looked first down at their hands in turn, then up at their faces in turn, and when he saw the metropolitan’s face a look of simple disgust diffused itself over his whole countenance.

“Ugh!!! “interjected Robinson.

“Ay!” replied the policeman, while putting handcuffs on him.  “To Australia you’ll go, for all that, Tom Lyon, alias Scott, alias Robinson, and you’ll have a new suit of clothes, mostly one color, and voyage paid, and a large house ashore waiting for you; and the governor’s gig will come alongside for you, provided they can’t find the convicts’ barge,” and the official was pleased with himself and his wit and allowed it to appear.

But by this time Robinson was on his balance again.  “Gentlemen,” answered he with cold dignity, “what am I to understand by this violence from persons to whom I am an utter stranger?” and he might have set for the picture of injured innocence.  “I am not acquainted with you, sir,” added he; “and by the titles you give me it seems you are not acquainted with me.”

The police laughed, and took out of this injured man’s pocket the stolen notes which Meadows instantly identified.

Then Mr. Robinson started off into another key equally artistical in its way.

“Miss Merton,” snuffled he, “appearances are against me, but mark my words, my innocence will emerge all the brighter for this temporary cloud.”

Susan Merton ran indoors, saying, “Oh!  I must tell George.”  She was not sorry of an excuse to be by George’s side, and remind him by her presence that if home had its thorns it had its rose tree, too.

News soon spreads; rustic heads were seen peeping over the wall to see the finale of the fine gentleman from “Lunnun.”  Meantime the constable went to put his horse in a four-wheeled chaise destined to convey Robinson to the county jail.

If the rural population expected to see this worthy discomposed by so sudden a change of fortune, they were soon undeceived.