You must look into it." And turning to
his man, who had come to take me, "Give this horse a right good feed of
bruised oats, and don't stint him."
"Dumb beasts!" Yes, we are; but if I could have spoken I could have told
my master where his oats went to. My groom used to come every morning
about six o'clock, and with him a little boy, who always had a covered
basket with him. He used to go with his father into the harness-room,
where the corn was kept, and I could see them, when the door stood ajar,
fill a little bag with oats out of the bin, and then he used to be off.
Five or six mornings after this, just as the boy had left the stable,
the door was pushed open, and a policeman walked in, holding the child
tight by the arm; another policeman followed, and locked the door on the
inside, saying, "Show me the place where your father keeps his rabbits'
food."
The boy looked very frightened and began to cry; but there was no
escape, and he led the way to the corn-bin. Here the policeman found
another empty bag like that which was found full of oats in the boy's
basket.
Filcher was cleaning my feet at the time, but they soon saw him, and
though he blustered a good deal they walked him off to the "lock-up",
and his boy with him.
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