"Now," said the squire, "since there is no direct evidence, but only circumstantial, I shall dismiss you with a reprimand, and a caution to be careful in the future and amend your ways, or Newgate will have you yet, and"—here the squire pushed his countenance into a large law-book, as if consulting reference—"and as to punishment, I will let you off lightly. Master Blunt, call Sloan."
The steward dropped his writing and left the hall, returning soon with the stout, old hostler.
"George, take Master Trembath out and put him in the stocks for one hour."
The old hostler opened his mouth slightly in amazement, as if to say something, but the frown on his master's brow checked him. Without a word, George Sloan and Stephen Blunt took the dazed lad out of the hall, down the garden avenue, and out through the gates to the very scene of his morning exploit, where was situated the village stocks. Resistance was out of the question, and so he submitted, as if his spirit was crushed.
"I am sorry for 'ee, my lad," said old George, "but us has to hobey horders. To think that the grandson of old squire shud be shut in th' stocks," and old George shook his head, for he felt the disgrace as keenly as the lad.
Stephen Blunt, who was not a native of the section, but had come in with the squire's father from the East, said nothing. The Trembaths were nothing to him, having never known them intimately. But old George Sloan, Ned Pengilly and others native to the soil, who had served with their fathers under the Trembaths, took great umbrage at the shabby treatment of the "young squire."
Ande thought of the misery of the disgrace; he, the best scholar in the parish school, condemned and punished as a common thief. He thought of his father and his grandfather. They were of the bravest gentry in Cornwall. None could show a better record in the annals of the county. They had taken their part in every prominent movement in the nation. The last of the line, branded as a thief, and, like a common vagrant, imprisoned in the stocks! He thought of his mother and her pride in him. He gave an impatient wrench to free his imprisoned ankles, but the framework was too heavy to be opened in his position. He thought of the parson's sermon of the previous Sabbath. Yes, he was like Joseph. The iron was entering his soul. He gave vent to his pent up feelings in tears.