s urchins," cries, to my dismay, a voice behind us, and so to
us--by his voice at least--Captain Night, but in his body no longer the
same gay spark that I had seen the night before, or rather that morning
early. He was as Black, and Hairy, and Savage-looking as any--as Jowler,
or any one of that Dark Gang; and in no way differed from them, save
that on the middle finger of his Right Hand there glittered from out all
his Grease and Soot, a Great Diamond Ring.

"Come," he cries, "Mistress Nimble Tongue, will you be giving your Red
Rag a gallop yet, and Billy Boys waiting to break their Fast? Despatch,
and set out the boy, as I bade you."

"I am no kitchen-wench, I," answers the Maid of the Wagon, tossing her
head. "Cicely o' the Cinders yonder will bring you to your umble-pie,
and a Jack of small-beer to cool you, I trow. Was it live Charcoal or
Seacoal embers that you swallowed last night, Captain, makes you so dry
this morning?"

"Never mind, Goody Slack Jaw," says Captain Night. "I shall be thirstier
anon from listening to your prate. Will you hurry now, Gadfly, or is the
sun to sink before we get hounds in leash?"

Thus admonished, the girl takes me by the arm, and, without more ado,
dips a rag in the pot of black pigment, and begins to smear all my
hands, and face, and throat, with dabs of disguising shade. And, as she
bade me do the same to my Garment, and never spare Soot, I fell to work
too, making myself into the likeness of a Chimney-boy, till they might
have taken me into a nursery to Frighten naughty children.

Captain Night sat by himself on the side of the bed, idly clicking a
pistol-lock till such time as he proceeded to load it, the which threw
me into a cold tremor, not knowing but that it might be the Custom among
the Gentlemen Blacks to blow out the brains in the morning of those they
had feasted over-night. Yet, as there never was Schoolboy, I suppose,
but delighted in Soiling of his raiment, and making himself as Black as
any sweep in Whetstone Park, so did I begin to feel something like a
Pleasure in being masqueraded up to this Disguise, and began to wish for
a Pistol such as Captain Night had in his Hand, and such a Diamond Ring
as he wore on his finger.

"There!" cries the Maid of the Wagon, when I was well Blacked, surveying
me approvingly. "You're a real imp of Charlwood Chase now. Ugh! thou
young Rig! I'll kiss you when the Captain brings you home, and good soap
and water takes off those