AT THE CORNER OF LOVERS' LANE
they heard a pair of tired horses panting and puffing up the grade that leads to this crossing. You fellows have climbed it on bicycles or running hare and hounds, and you know how long and stiff it is even when the ground is hard; so they came nearer and nearer very slowly. My ancestor could dimly see them now. The old bloke carried no lights. My ancestor cocked his pistols. When the wagon reached a point about even with us here out popped the amateur highwaymen from both sides of the road at once, crying, 'Up with your hands or you're a dead man!' Two of them jumped at the horses' heads, according to the arrangement, as the old Major put whip to them, while my ancestor—I reckon he was the most daring of the lot—rushed in and poked his pistol under the old boy's nose. 'Don't kill me!' squealed the servant, and dropped the reins.
"'Cur!' said the old gentleman quite calmly. 'You should never let go the reins when you're driving.' And grabbing them up himself he slashed the horses with all his
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