This wasn't likely to be a police trooper.
One man wouldn't come by himself to a place like ours at night; and no trooper, if he did come, would clatter along a hard track, making row enough to be heard more than a mile off on a quiet night.
'It's all right,' says father.

'The old dog knowed him; it's Billy the Boy.

There's something up.' Just as he spoke we saw a horseman come in sight; and he rattled down the stony track as hard as he could lick.

He pulled up just opposite the house, close by where we were standing.

It was a boy about fifteen, dressed in a ragged pair of moleskin trousers, a good deal too large for him, but kept straight by a leather strap round the waist.