The flames sprung up and clung to the rotten woodwork, which burned like tinder.

At this moment a figure was seen leaping wildly from the inside of the blazing coach.

The figure made three bounds towards us, and tripped over Harry Blake.

It was Pepper Whitcomb, with his hair somewhat singed, and his eyebrows completely scorched off! Pepper had slyly ensconced himself on the back seat before we started, intending to have a neat little ride down hill, and a laugh at us afterwards.

But the laugh, as it happened, was on our side, or would have been, if half a dozen watchmen had not suddenly pounced down upon us, as we lay scrambling on the ground, weak with mirth over Pepper's misfortune.