“N-no,” Ben acknowledged, with a little shiver. He looked up at John, and added hopefully: “He couldn’t get me, could he? Not with a big cove like you here.”

“Of course not. No one could get you,” John replied, shutting the door again, and going back to the fire. “You may bolt it if you choose, but there’s no need.”

“Yes, ’cos he might come to see me dad, and I mustn’t see him, nor him me,” explained Ben.

“Lord, is he as shy as all that? What’s the matter with him? Is he so ugly?”

“I dunno. I never seen him. Only his shadder—onct!”

“But you’ve rubbed his horse down for him, haven’t you?”

“No!” Ben said, staring.

“Wasn’t that his blanket that you brought me for Beau?”

“No.’ That’s Mr. Chirk’s!” said Ben. “He’s a—” He stopped, gave a gasp, and added quickly: “He’s as good as ever twanged, he is! You don’t want to go telling nobody about him! Please, sir—”

“Oh, I won’t breathe a word about him! Are all your friends so shy?”

“He ain’t shy. He just don’t like strangers.”

“I see. And does this other man—the one you’re afraid of—dislike strangers too?”

“I dunno. He can’t abide boys. Me dad says if he was to catch me looking at him he’d have me took off to work in the pits.” His voice sank on the word, and he gave so convulsive a shudder that it was easy to see that coal-pits were to him a worse horror than foundries.

John laughed. “That’s a fine Banbury story! Your dad’s been hoaxing you, my son!”

Ben looked incredulous. “He could have me took off. He’d put a sack over me head, and—”

“Oh, would he? And what do you suppose I should do if anyone walked in and tried to put a sack over your head?”

“What?” asked Ben, round-eyed.

“Put a sack over his head, of course, and hand him to the nearest constable.”