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In the extremity of my wretchedness I could have wept on the bosom of the portly warder who opened the wicket, even as Juliet had wept upon mine; and it was almost a relief to me, when our brief visit was over, to find that we should not return together to King's Cross as was our wont, but that Juliet would go back by omnibus that she might do some shopping in Oxford Street, leaving me to walk home alone.
Presently a man came down the walk towards the wicket, coming slowly, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the trees, now and again stopping and looking around him as though he feared being followed. Finally, as he neared the gate, he put a bold face on the matter, and with an air of unconcern stepped towards the sentry.
"Ye needn't glue yer eye on me," Tom thought indignantly. "I'll not open it here for you to watch me. They're awful pryin' in this office. What do you bet she hasn't opened it?" He moved aside as others pressed up to the wicket, feeling that every eye was upon him. In a corner outside the door, Tom opened his letter, and laboriously made out its contents.
The soldiers caught him, and held him upright, and you may guess if, in their temper at being fooled, they twisted his arms a bit. "Take him to my quarters, and we will discuss it," commanded Captain Sharpland, turning back to the wicket again, and leading the way.
Flamen loosed the wicket latch, and thought there might be better ways of spending the day than in the gray shadows of old Mechlin. "Will you give me a draught of water?" he asked her as he crossed the garden. "I will give you breakfast," said Bébée, happy as a bird.
Wicket plant her little garden in the spring, and plow it under in the autumn. Now it is growing late and I must go home again." Juliet had tired of her play. "Tell me a story," she said. "Tell me about the war, Mr. Jeminy. Tell me about Noel Ploughman." But Mr. Jeminy shook his head. "No," he said, "it is time to drive your mother's cow home from the fields.
Godwin than Black Bogey, she feels her way down the dark, narrow staircase, reaches the lower door, unbolts it, and steps out on the path at the back of the house. There is still a faint twilight, and this enables her to find her way to the wicket gate opposite Anne Fitch's cottage.
Wicket planted her rows of corn, is left to grow its mouthful of hay, to sell to Mr. Frye." "Ah," said Mr. Tomkins wisely, "that's it. Well, Mrs. Wicket, now. Still," he added, "he'll have a lot of nettles in that hay." "The rich," Mr. Jeminy continued, "quarrel with the poor, and the poor, by way of answer, with rich and poor alike.
They were twelve or fifteen feet high, absolutely smooth; and with one exception broken only by the long, narrow loopholes or transoms I have mentioned before. The one exception was a small wicket gate or door. I remembered the various sorties with torches after the chirping frogs, and knew that by this opening the hunting party had emerged.
"I want you," he wrote, "to leave the plantation, and go with your old maumer to the village. It will be safer there." He was sure the letter would reach her. He had a plan to escape to-night, and he could put it into a post inside the lines. Ben was to get a small hand-saw that would open the wicket; the guards were not hard to elude.
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