"Walk him off to the police-station this minute!" exclaimed the Squire in a voice of fury.
"Oh, sir! oh, please! please, sir! Oh! oh! Don't, sir! don't! I'll never do it no more!" sobbed the trembling boy.
"Take him to the station-house! Indict him for manslaughter. He might have killed me?" cried the enraged Squire.
"Beg pardon, sir," said Harry's father, touching his hat; "I've cautioned that boy times without number; but leave him to me this once more, sir."
Harry was marched home. His mother was told. She cried bitterly.
"How much money have you?" asked the father.
"Not a—a far—thing," sobbed Harry.
"Then how is the four shillings to be raised to pay for that broken glass?" continued Mr. Pearson.
"I don't—boo-hoo! kn—now!"
"But I do!" exclaimed Harry's father, in a tone of dreadful meaning. "That rabbit must be sold!"