CHAPTER VIII.
"Kettles and frying-pans! what has us here?" cried the tinker.
This time Mr. Sprott was without his donkey; for it being Sunday, it is
presumed that the donkey was enjoying his Sabbath on the common. The
tinker was in his Sunday's best, clean and smart, about to take his
lounge in the park.
Lenny Fairfield made no answer to the appeal.
"You in the wood, my baby! Well, that's the last sight I should ha'
thought to see. But we all lives to larn," added the tinker,
sententiously. "Who gave you them leggins? Can't you speak, lad?"
"Nick Stirn."
"Nick Stirn! Ay, I'd ha' ta'en my davy on that: and cos vy?"
"'Cause I did as he told me, and fought a boy as was trespassing on these
very stocks; and he beat me--but I don't care for that; and that boy was
a young gentleman, and going to visit the squire; and so Nick Stirn--"
Lenny stopped short, choked by rage and humiliation.
"Augh," said the tinker, starting, "you fit with a young gentleman, did
you? Sorry to hear you confess that, my lad! Sit there and be thankful
you ha' got off so cheap. 'T is salt and battery to fit with your
betters, and a Lunnon justice o' peace would have given you two months o'
the treadmill.
"But vy should you fit cos he trespassed on the stocks? It ben't your
natural side for fitting, I takes it."
Lenny murmured something not very distinguishable about serving the
squire, and doing as he was bid.
"Oh, I sees, Lenny," interrupted the tinker, in a tone of great contempt,
"you be one of those who would rayther 'unt with the 'ounds than run with
the 'are! You be's the good pattern boy, and would peach agin your own
border to curry favour with the grand folks. Fie, lad! you be sarved
right; stick by your border, then you'll be 'spected when you gets into
trouble, and not be 'varsally 'spised,--as you'll be arter church-time!
Vell, I can't be seen 'sorting with you, now you are in this d'rogotary
fix; it might hurt my c'r'acter, both with them as built the stocks and
them as wants to pull 'em down. Old kettles to mend! Vy, you makes me
forgit the Sabbath! Sarvent, my lad, and wish you well out of it;
'specks to your mother, and say we can deal for the pan and shovel all
the same for your misfortin."
The tinker went his way. Lenny's eye followed him with the sullenness of
despair. The tinker, like all the tribe of human comforters, had only
watered the brambles to invigorate the prick of the horns. Yes, if Lenny
had been caught breaking the stocks, some at least would have pitied him;
but to be incarcerated for defending them! You might as well have
expected that the widows and orphans of the Reign of Terror would have
pitied Dr. Guillotin when he slid through the grooves of his own deadly
machine. And even the tinker, itinerant, ragamuffin vagabond as he was,
felt ashamed to be found with the pattern boy! Lenny's head sank again
on his breast heavily, as if it had been of lead. Some few minutes thus
passed, when the unhappy prisoner became aware of the presence of another
spectator to his shame; he heard no step, but he saw a shadow thrown over
the sward. He held his breath, and would not look up, with some vague
idea that if he refused to see he might escape being seen.
