"Walk in, my lad," he said.
Waldo obeyed sullenly; one place to him was much the same as another. He
had no objection to being locked up.
Bonaparte followed him in, and closed the door carefully. He put the light
down on the heap of dung in the corner, and quietly introduced his hand
under his coat-tails, and drew slowly from his pocket the end of a rope,
which he concealed behind him.
"I'm very sorry, exceedingly sorry, Waldo, my lad, that you should have
acted in this manner. It grieves me," said Bonaparte.
He moved round toward the boy's back. He hardly liked the look in the
fellow's eyes, though he stood there motionless. If he should spring on
him!
So he drew the rope out very carefully, and shifted round to the wooden
post. There was a slipknot in one end of the rope, and a sudden movement
drew the boy's hands to his back and passed it round them. It was an
instant's work to drag it twice round the wooden post: then Bonaparte was
safe.
For a moment the boy struggled to free himself; then he knew that he was
powerless, and stood still.
"Horses that kick must have their legs tied," said Bonaparte, as he passed
the other end of the rope round the boy's knees. "And now, my dear Waldo,"
taking the whip out of his pocket, "I am going to beat you."
He paused for a moment.
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