"Please, sir, we don't not get nothing," replied the little brown-faced rustic. "Ned Franks, he be our school-master, there; he tells us to work for the pleasure of helping the poor."
Sir Lacy gave a loud, very scornful whistle, and then a still louder laugh. "If you listen to such twaddle," he cried, "I'll tell you what you'll come to, my lad. Your ears will grow longer than your purse, and you'll have to take to browsing on thistles, like a donkey, as you are!" and to give point to his wit, the young man caught hold of the ear of the unfortunate boy, and gave it a pull, apparently to hasten the lengthening process, but which had only the effect of forcing out a sharp cry of pain.
The circle of boys retreated a pace backwards, and Franks had to press his lips very tightly indeed together to keep in the word "brute!"
"And what's that?" asked the baronet, turning to another young worker, who looked by no means anxious to be singled out for conversation with the lord of the manor. Sir Lacy was pointing with his cigar to the great pile collected for making the seven cottage porches.
"Them be branches," stammered out the child.
"I dare say; I did not take them for buttercups, wiseacre! So you've been making preparations for a grand bonfire in honor of my return?"
The poor little boy gave a frightened, appealing glance towards Franks.
"Answer me; I suppose you've a tongue in your head," said Sir Lacy. The boy was trembling for his ears.
"Them be for the porches, sir," faltered the poor little fellow, who had been one of the most active in collecting for the purpose the strongest and most pliable branches.