he Collector to himself. He did not ask her pardon,
but opened his Calderon, signed to Manasseh to roll a fresh
tobacco-leaf, and fell to reading his favourite _Alcalde de Zalamea_.

The sun crept slowly to the right over the tops of the maples. It no
longer scorched their faces, but slanted in rays through the upper
boughs, dappling the open walks with splashes of light which, as they
receded in distance, took by a trick of the eyesight a pattern regular
as diaper. By this time the Collector, when he glanced up from his
book, had an ample view of the square, for the crowd had thinned.
The punishment of the stocks was no such rare spectacle in Port Nassau;
and five hours is a tedious while even for the onlooker--a very long
while indeed to stand weighing the fun of throwing a handful of filth
against the cost of a thrashing. The men-folk, reasoning thus, had
melted away to their longshore avocations. The women, always more
patient--as to their nature the show was more piquant than to the
men's--had withdrawn with their knitting to benches well within
eyeshot. The children, playing around, grew more and more immersed in
their games; which, nevertheless, one or another would interrupt from
time to time to point and ask a question. Above the Court-house the
town clock chimed its quarters across the afternoon heat.

The Collector, glancing up in the act of turning a page, spied Mr. Trask
hobbling down an alley towards the Jail. Mr. Trask, a martyr to gout,
helped his progress with an oaken staff. He leaned on this as he halted
before the stocks.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Damnably!" answered the Collector with great cheerfulness. "It takes
one in the back, you see. If ever the Town Fathers think of moving this
machine, you might put in a word for shifting it a foot or two back,
against the prison wall."

Mr. Trask grinned.

"I suppose now," he said after a pause, "you think you are doing a fine
thing, and doing it handsomely?"

"I had some notion of the sort, but this confinement of the feet is
wonderfully cooling to the brain. No--if you dispute it. Most human
actions are mixed."

Mr. Trask eyed him, chin between two fingers and thumb. When he spoke
again it was with lowered voice. "Is it altogether kind to the girl?"
he asked.

"Eh?" The Collector in turn eyed Mr. Trask.

"Or even quite fair to her?"

"Oh, come!" said the Collector. "Tongues? I hadn't thought of that."

"I dare say not." Mr.