ey had kicked the
monster to death who has done this."

"Done this! Has anybody done this?" faltered Dick, while Tom turned
quite white.

"Yes; don't you understand?"

"No, father," cried Dick, looking at him vacantly.

"The poor beasts have been houghed--hamstrung by some cruel wretch.
Here, quick!"

He hurried across to the lodge where a favourite cow and the bull were
tethered, and as he saw that these poor beasts had been treated in the
same barbarous way--

"Did you hear or see anyone, Dick?" he cried, turning sharply on his
son.

"No, father. I was asleep till Tom woke me, and told me that the beasts
were uneasy."

"It is too cruel, too cruel," groaned the squire huskily. "What is to
happen next? Here, go and call up the men. You, Tom Tallington, go and
rouse up Hickathrift. We may be in time to catch the wretches who have
done this. Quick, boys! quick! And if I do--"

He did not finish his sentence; but as the boys ran off he walked into
the house, to return with his gun, and thus armed he made a hasty survey
of the place.

By the time he had done, Dick was back with the men, and soon after,
Hickathrift came panting up, with Tom; but though a hot search was
carried on for hours, nothing more was found, and by breakfast-time five
reports had rung out on the bright morning air, as Squire Winthorpe
loaded his old flint-lock gun with a leaden bullet five times, and put
the poor helpless suffering brutes out of their misery.

"Three good useful horses, and the best-bred bull and cow in the marsh,
squire," said Farmer Tallington, who had come over as soon as he heard
the news. "Any idea who it could be?"

"No," said the squire; "thank goodness, no. I don't want to find out
the wretch's name, Tallington, for I'm a hot-tempered, passionate man."

"It's the drain, neighbour, the drain," said the farmer, shaking his
head. "Let's be content with the money we've lost, and try to put a
stop to proceedings before we suffer more and worse. There's them about
as hev sworn the drain sha'n't be made, and it's the same hands that
fired my stacks and those shots, neighbour."

"I daresay it is, farmer," said the squire sternly; "but do you know
what it says in the Book about the man who puts his hand to the plough?"

"Ay, I think I know what you mean."

"And so do you, Dick?" said the squire.

"Yes, father."

"Well, my boy, I've put my hand to the plough to do a good, honest,
sensible work, and, k