So Cuthbert roamed the London streets wondering and amazed. He saw
many a street fight waged between the Templars and 'prentices, and
got a broken head himself from being swept along the tide of mimic
battle. He saw the rude and rabble mob indulging in their favourite
pastime of upsetting coaches (hell carts as they chose to dub
them), and roaring with laughter as the frightened occupants strove
to free themselves from the clumsy vehicles. Cuthbert got several
hard knocks as a reward for striving to assist these unlucky wights
when they chanced to be ladies; but he was too well used to blows
to heed them over much, and could generally give as good as he got.

The fighting instinct often got him into tight places, as when he
suddenly found himself surrounded by a hooting mob of ruffians in
one of the slums of "Alsatia," as Whitefriars was called, where he
had imprudently adventured himself. And this adventure might have
well had a fatal termination for him, as this was a veritable den
of murderers and villains of the deepest dye, and even the
authorities dared not venture within its purlieus to hunt out a
missing criminal without a guard of soldiers with them. The abuse
of "Sanctuary" was well exemplified by the existing state of things
here; and though Cuthbert was doing no ill to any soul, but merely
gratifying his curiosity by prowling about the narrow dens and
alleys, the cry of "A spy! a spy!" soon brought a mob about him,
whilst his readiness to engage in battle caused the tumult to
redouble itself in an instant.

The lad had just realized his danger, and faced the fact that the
chances of escaping alive were greatly against him, when a window
in a neighbouring house was thrown open, and a stern, musical voice