r friend the parson did not quite know what he
meant to do with the Tartar he had caught. There were reasons which
made him very unwilling to hand over Sam Brattle to the village
constable. Sam had a mother and sister who were among the Vicar's
first favourites in the parish; and though old Jacob Brattle, the
father, was not so great a favourite, and was a man whom the Squire,
his landlord, held in great disfavour, Mr. Fenwick would desire, if
possible, to spare the family. And of Sam, himself, he had had high
hopes, though those hopes, for the last eighteen months had been
becoming fainter and fainter. Upon the whole, he was much averse to
knocking up the groom, the only man who lived on the parsonage except
himself, and dragging Sam into the village. "I wish I knew," he said,
"what you and your friends were going to do. I hardly think it has
come to that with you, that you'd try to break into the house and cut
our throats."

"We warn't after no breaking in, nor no cutting of throats, Mr.
Fenwick. We warn't indeed!"

"What shall you do with yourself, to-night, if I let you off?"

"Just go home to father's, sir; not a foot else, s'help me."

"One of your friends, as you call them, will have to go to the
doctor, if I am not very much mistaken; for the rap I gave you was
nothing to what he got. You're all right?"

"It hurt, sir, I can tell ye;--but that won't matter."

"Well, Sam,--there; you may go. I shall be after you to-morrow, and
the last word I say to you, to-night, is this;--as far as I can see,
you're on the road to the gallows. It isn't pleasant to be hung, and
I would advise you to change your road." So saying, he let go his
hold, and stood waiting till Sam should have taken his departure.

"Don't be a-coming after me, to-morrow, parson, please," said the
man.

"I shall see your mother, certainly."

"Dont'ee tell her of my being here, Mr. Fenwick, and nobody shan't
ever come anigh this place again,--not in the way of prigging
anything."

"You fool, you!" said the parson. "Do you think that it is to save
anything that I might lose, that I let you go now? Don't you know
that the thing I want to save is you,--you,--you; you helpless, idle,
good-for-nothing reprobate? Go home, and be sure that I shall do the
best I can according to my lights. I fear that my lights are bad
lights, in that they have allowed me to let you go."

When he had seen Sam take his departure through the front gate, he
returned