"You did not mention his name.

How could he tell that he was our benefactor?
He did not even know that he was to be; and I begin to have misgivings about it myself." "I cannot say that I see much sign of his putting his hand into his breeches-pocket," says Bobby, vulgarly.
There is the click of a lifted latch.

We both look in the direction whence comes the sound.

He of whom we speak is entering the garden by a distant door.
"Get down, Bobby!" cry I, hurriedly, "and help me down.

Make haste! quick! I would not have him find me perched up here for _worlds_." Bobby gets down as nimbly as a monkey.