“Lord forbid, sir; that’s what they say: that’s what they have digged on it with knives and daggers, and they have stuffed mud in its four holes, and broken the capital of the elewation.”
The squire took the napkin off his shoulder, laid down strop and razor; he seated himself in his armchair majestically, crossed his legs, and, in a voice that affected tranquillity, said,—
“Compose yourself, Stirn; you have a deposition to make, touching an assault upon—can I trust my senses?—upon my new stocks. Compose yourself; be calm. Now! What the devil is come to the parish?”
“Ah, sir, what indeed?” replied Mr. Stirn: and then laying the forefinger of the right hand on the palm of the left he narrated the case.
“And whom do you suspect? Be calm now; don’t speak in a passion. You are a witness, sir,—a dispassionate, unprejudiced witness. Zounds and fury! this is the most insolent, unprovoked, diabolical—but whom do you suspect, I say?” Stirn twirled his hat, elevated his eyebrows, jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and whispered, “I hear as how the two Papishers slept at your honour’s last night.”
“What, dolt! do you suppose Dr. Rickeybockey got out of his warm bed to bung up the holes in my new stocks?”
“Noa; he’s too cunning to do it himself, but he may have been semminating. He’s mighty thick with Parson Dale, and your honour knows as how the parson set his face agin the stocks. Wait a bit, sir,—don’t fly at me yet. There be a boy in this here parish—”
“A boy! ah, fool, now you are nearer the mark. The parson write ‘Damn the stocks,’ indeed! What boy do you mean?”
“And that boy be cockered up much by Mr. Dale; and the Papisher went and sat with him and his mother a whole hour t’ other day; and that boy is as deep as a well; and I seed him lurking about the place, and hiding hisself under the tree the day the stocks was put up,—and that ‘ere boy is Lenny Fairfield.”
“Whew,” said the squire, whistling, “you have not your usual senses about you to-day, man. Lenny Fairfield,—pattern boy of the village. Hold your tongue. I dare say it is not done by any one in the parish, after all: some good-for-nothing vagrant—that cursed tinker, who goes about with a very vicious donkey,—a donkey that I caught picking thistles out of the very eyes of the old stocks! Shows how the tinker brings up his donkeys! Well, keep a sharp look-out. To-day is Sunday; worst day of the week, I’m sorry and ashamed to say, for rows and depredations. Between the services, and after evening church, there are always idle fellows from all the neighbouring country about, as you know too well. Depend on it, the real culprits will be found gathering round the stocks, and will betray themselves; have your eyes, ears, and wits about you, and I’ve no doubt we shall come to the rights of the matter before the day’s out. And if we do,” added the squire, “we’ll make an example of the ruffian!”