In a field, just off the road, was a strong, brutal-looking man deliberately engaged in tying a boy of twelve to a tree. The whip in his hand showed what he intended to do afterwards. He might indeed have dispensed with tying the boy, for he was quite unable to escape, but he did it on the same principle that a cat plays with a mouse, to increase the terror of the poor victim.
His back was turned, so that he did not see the approach of Anak and the two boys.
This was what the new-comer heard as they approached:
"Oh, please don't whip me, Mr. Tarbox," pleaded the poor boy, in an agony of apprehension.
"Then why did you come across my lot, you little rascal?"
"I was in a hurry to call the doctor, because mother was sick. Indeed that was the only reason."
"I've got nothing to do with your sick mother," said Tarbox. "That was no reason for coming across my field."
"I didn't hurt anything, sir; I just walked along the path."
"I'll larn you not to try it again, Jim Benton; I'm goin' to give you as good a floggin' as ever you had. You can just tell the other boys how it feels and mebbe they'll want to try it."