“Horrible!”
“Aw-ful!” chimed in one and another.
“Undo the rope,” said the chief constable, “at least, loosen it a bit; we don’t want to hang him yet.”
“No; that fun has to come,” said another, with a loud laugh.
“Bring him along, lads; I’ll lead the way with the light!” said the chief constable.
And poor Jonas was dragged forth to prison with a long halter around his neck.
He was dripping wet, and soaked to the marrow.
His thighs were bruised and wounded by cuffs, the fork-prongs, and dog-bites.
His legs trembled from under him.
Dogs barked at him, men jeered, and women clapped their hands.