Poor Derba looked anxiously in Curdie's face. He
broke out laughing.
'They are much mistaken,' he said, 'if they fancy they could keep
Lina and a miner in any house in Gwyntystorm - even if they built
up doors and windows.'
With that he shouldered his mattock. But Derba begged him not to
make a hole in her house just yet. She had plenty for breakfast,
she said, and before it was time for dinner they would know what
the people meant by it.
And indeed they did. For within an hour appeared one of the chief
magistrates of the city, accompanied by a score of soldiers with
drawn swords, and followed by a great multitude of people,
requiring the miner and his brute to yield themselves, the one that
he might be tried for the disturbance he had occasioned and the
injury he had committed, the other that she might be roasted alive
for her part in killing two valuable and harmless animals belonging
to worthy citizens. The summons was preceded and followed by
flourish of trumpet, and was read with every formality by the city
marshal himself.
The moment he ended, Lina ran into the little passage, and stood
opposite the door.
'I surrender,' cried Curdie.
'Then tie up your brute, and give her here.'
'No, no,' cried Curdie through the door. 'I surrender; but I'm not
going to do your hangman's work. If you want MY dog, you must take
her.
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