Supper over, the captain, instead of turning round his chair to the fireplace, filling his pipe, and calling for another glass of October, as we expected, pushed back his chair, and rose with dignity.
"Jennifer," he addressed Molly's mother, "the persuader."
Jennifer was her Christian name. She got up and drew from the corner by the cupboard a stout crab tree cudgel, twisted and gnarled like the old tree from which it came. "Be not revengeful, John," she said.
"No, no. I am a justice of the peace. I am captain on my own quarter-deck. Punishment I shall bestow—not revenge."
"Well, John. But he is young and you are old."
Captain Crowle laughed. "Young, is he? And I am old, am I? We shall see."
Some one was going to be tried, judged, found guilty, sentenced and to receive his sentence at once. The thing was not unusual in the house of a justice of the peace.
"Come with me, Jack. It shall not be said that I inflicted this punishment without a witness. All the world shall know about it, if so be the culprit desires. Come with me. Jennifer, keep within, and if you hear groans, praise the Lord for the correction of a sinner."
Greatly marvelling I followed the captain as he marched out of the parlour. Arrived at the garden he looked around. "So!" he said, "he has not yet come. Perhaps it is light enough for you to read some of his pernicious stuff." With that he put his hand into his pocket and drew forth a paper. "Read that, Jack, I say, read it."
I obeyed: the twilight gave sufficient light for reading the manuscript. Besides, the writing was large and in bold characters. "Why," I said, "I know this writing. It is Sam Semple's."