. Let him have it."

Tom darted forward and came in contact with the rope, which was strained
tightly from where David hung back to the top of the wall, the lassoed
thief having rushed back as soon as touched by the rope, reached the top
of the wall, and threw himself over, to hang there just below quite
fast, but struggling violently, and making a hoarse noise like some wild
beast.

"At him, Master Tom! Give it him!"

Tom wanted no urging; he seized the rope and tried to draw the captive
back into the garden, but the effort was vain, so leaving it he drew
back, took a run and a jump, scrambled on to the top of the wall, so as
to lean over, and then began thrashing away with his stout hazel as if
he were beating a carpet.

_Thud, thud--whack, whack_, he delivered his blows at the struggling
object below, and at every whish of the stick there was a violent kick
and effort to get free. Once the stick was seized, but only held for a
moment before it was dragged away, and then, _thud, thud, thud_, the
blows fell heavily, while, in an intense state of excitement, the
gardener kept on shouting--

"Harder, harder, Master Tom! Sakes, I wish I was there! Harder, sir,
harder! Let him have it! Stop him! Ah!"

There was a rustling, scrambling sound on Tom's side of the wall, and
the cracking of the stick, which had come in contact with the bricks,
for the prisoner had escaped, and his footsteps could be faintly heard,
as he dashed over the grassy field into the darkness, where Tom felt it
would be useless to pursue.

But just then he did not possess the power, for he could only lean there
over the wall, and laugh in a way that was quite exhausting, and it was
not until David had been growling and muttering for some minute or two
that he was able to speak.

"What made you let him go, David?" he panted at last.

"Let him go, sir? I didn't let him go. He just jerked the rope out of
my hands, after dragging me down and over the gravel path. There's no
end o' bark off my knuckles and nose."

"Oh, don't say you're hurt, David," said Tom, sitting up astride of the
wall.

"Why not, sir? Yes, I shall. I'm hurt horrid. Arms feel 'most jerked
out o' the sockets, and skin's off the palms of my hands, leastwise it
feels like it. Going to run arter him?"

"Oh no, it's of no use. I gave him an awful thrashing though."

"I wish you'd give him ten times as much, my lad--a wagabone. It was
Pete Warboys, wasn't it?"