The following morning the squire went to the stable, and after soundly rating Charles for his share in the belligerent preparation of Brunswick, ordered him, under penalty of a flogging, to cease not only from exercising the would-be soldiers, but from all absences from the estate “without my order or permission.” The man took the tirade as usual with an evident contempt more irritating than less passive action, speaking for the first time when at the end of the monologue the master demanded:—

“Speak out, fellow, and say if ye intend to do as ye are ordered, for if not, over ye go with me this morning to the sitting of the justices.”

“I’m not the man to take a whipping, that I warn you,” was the response.

“Ye dare threaten, do ye?” cried the master. “Saddle Jumper and Daisy, and have ’em at the door after breakfast. One rascal shall be quickly taught what rebellion ends in.”

Fuming, the squire went to his morning meal, at which he announced his intention to ride to Brunswick and the purport of the trip.

“Oh, dadda, he—please don’t!” begged Janice.

“And why not, child?” demanded her mother.

“Because he—oh! he is n’t like most bondsmen and—”

“What did I tell thee, Lambert?” said Mrs. Meredith.

“Nonsense, Matilda,” snorted the squire. “The lass gave me her word for ’t—”

“Word!” ejaculated the wife. “What ’s a word or anything else when—Since thee ’s sent Phil off, the quicker thee comes to my mind, and gives her to the parson, the better.”

“What mean ye by objecting to this fellow being flogged, Jan?” asked the father.

Poor Janice, torn between the two difficulties, subsided, and meekly responded, “I—Well, I don’t like to have things whipped, dadda. But if Charles deserves it, of course he— he—’t is right.”

“There!” said Mr. Meredith, “ye see the lass has the sense of it.”

The subject was dropped, but after breakfast, as the crunch of the horse’s feet sounded, Janice left the spinet for a moment to look out of the window, and it was a very doleful and pitiful face she took back to her task five minutes later.

When master and man drew rein in front of the Brunswick Court-house, it was obvious to the least heedful that something unusual was astir. Although the snow lay deep in front of the building and a keen nip was in the air, the larger part of the male population of the village was gathered on the green. Despite the chill, some sat upon the steps of the building, others bestowed themselves on the stocks in front of it, and still more stood about in groups, stamping their feet or swinging their arms, clearly too chilled to assume more restful attitudes, yet not willing to desert to the more comfortable firesides within doors.

Ordering the bond-servant to hitch the two horses in the meeting-house shed and then to come to the court-room, the squire made his way between the loafers on the steps, and attempted to open the door, only to discover that the padlock was still fast in the staple.

“How now, Mr. Constable?” he exclaimed, turning, and thus for the first time becoming conscious that every eye was upon him. “What means this?”

The constable, who was one of those seated on the stocks, removed a straw from between his lips, spat at the pillory post, much as if he were shooting at a mark, and remarked, “I calkerlate yer waan’t at the meetin’, squire?”

”Not I,” averred Mr. Meredith.

“Yer see,” explained the constable, “they voted that there should n’t be no more of the king’s law till we wuz more sartin of the king’s justice, an’ that any feller as opposed that ere resolution wuz ter be held an enemy ter his country an’ treated as such. That ain’t the persition I’m ambeetious ter hold, an’ so I did n’t open the court-house.”

“What?” gasped Mr. Meredith. “Are ye all crazy?”

“Mebbe we be,” spoke up one of the listeners, “but we ain’t so crazy by a long sight as him as issued that.” The speaker pointed at the king’s proclamation, and then, either to prove his contempt for the symbol of monarchy, or else to show the constable how much better shot he was, he neatly squirted a mouthful of tobacco juice full upon the royal arms.

“And where are the other justices?” demanded the squire, looking about as if in search of assistance.

“The old squire an’ the paason wuz at the meetin’, an’ I guess they knew it ’ud only be wastin’ time to attend this pertiklar sittin’ of the court.”

“Belza take them!” cried the squire. “They’re a pair of cotswold lions, and I’ll tell it them to their faces,” he added, alluding to a humorous expression of the day for a sheep. “Here I have a rebellious servant, and I’d like to know how I’m to get warrant to flog him, if there is to be no court. Dost mean to have no law in the land?”

“I guess,” retorted Bagby, “that if the king won’t regard the law, he can’t expect the rest of us to, noways. What ’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, and if there ever was a gander it’s him,”—a mot which produced a hearty laugh from the crowd.

“As justice of the peace I order ye to open this door, constable,” called the squire.

The constable pulled out a bunch of keys and tossed it in the snow, saying, “’T ain’t fer me to say there sha’n’t be no sittin’ of the court, an’ if yer so set on tryin’, why, try.”

The squire deliberately went down two steps to get the keys, but the remaining six he took at one tumble, having received a push from one of the loafers back of him which sent his heavy body sprawling in the snow, his whip, hat, and, worst of all, his wig, flying in different directions. In a moment he had risen, cleared the snow from his mouth and eyes, and recovered his scattered articles, but it was not so easy to recover his dignity, and this was made the more difficult by the discovery that the bunch of keys had disappeared.

“Who took those keys?” he roared as soon as he could articulate, but the only reply the question produced was laughter.

“Don’t you wherrit yourself about those keys, squire,” advised Bagby. “They ’re safe stowed where they won’t cause no more trouble. And since that is done with, we’d like to settle another little matter with you that we was going to come over to Greenwood about to-day, but seeing as you ’re here, I don’t see no reason why it should n’t be attended to now.”

“What’s that?” snapped the squire.

“The meeting kind of thought things looked squawlish ahead, and that it would be best to be fixed for it, so I offered a resolution that the town buy twenty half-barrels of grain, and that—”

“Grain!” exclaimed the squire. “What in the ’nation can ye want with grain?”

“As we are all friends here, I’ll tell you confidential sort, that we put it thataways, so as the resolutions need n’t read too fiery, when they was published in the ‘Gazette.’ But the folks all knew as the grain was to be a black grain, that ’s not very good eating.”

“Why, this is treason!” cried Mr. Meredith. “Gunpowder! That ’s—”

“Yes. Gunpowder,” continued the spokesman, quite as much to the now concentrated crowd as to the questioner. “We reckon the time ’s coming when we’ll want it swingeing bad. And the meeting seemed to think the same way, for they voted that resolution right off, and appointed me and Phil Hennion and Mr. Wetman a committee to raise a levy to buy it.”

“Think ye a town meeting can lay a tax levy?” contemptuously demanded Mr. Meredith. “None but the—”

“’T is n’t to be nothing but a voluntary contribution,” interrupted Bagby, grinning broadly, “and no man ’s expected to give more than his proportion, as settled by his last rates.”

“An’ no man ’s expected ter give less, nuther,” said a voice back in the crowd.

“So if you’ve nine pounds seven and four with you, squire,” went on Bagby, “’t will save you a special trip over to pay it.”

“I’ll see ye all damned first!” retorted the squire, warmly. “Why don’t ye knock me down and take my purse, and have done with it?”

“’T would be the sensible thing with such a tarnal cross tyke,” shouted some one.

“Everything fair and orderly is the way we work,” continued the committee man. “But we want that nine pounds odd, and ’t will be odd if we don’t get it.”

“You’ll not get it from me,” asserted the squire, turning to walk away.

As he did so, half a dozen hands were laid upon his arms from behind, and he was held so firmly that he could not move.

“Shall we give him a black coat, Joe?” asked some one.

“No,” negatived Bagby. “Let ’s see if being a ‘babe in the wood’ won’t be enough to bring him to reason.

The slang term for occupants of the stocks was quite suggestive enough to produce instant result. The squire was dragged back till his legs were tripped from under him by the frame, the bunch of keys, which suddenly reappeared, served to unlock the upper board, and before the victim quite realised what had transpired he was safely fastened in the ignominious instrument. Regrettable as it is to record, Mr. Meredith began to curse in a manner highly creditable to his knowledge of Anglo-Saxon, but quite the reverse of his moral nature.

So long as the squire continued to express his rage and to threaten the bystanders with various penalties, the crowd stood about in obvious enjoyment, but anger that only excites amusement in others very quickly burns itself out, and in this particular case the chill of the snow on which the squire was sitting was an additional cause for a rapid cooling. Within two minutes his vocabulary had exhausted itself and he relapsed into silence. The fun being over, the crowd began to scatter, the older ones betaking themselves indoors while the youngsters waylaid Charles, as he came from hitching the horses, and suggested a drill.

The bondsman shook his head and walked to the squire. “Any orders, Mr. Meredith?” he asked.

“Get an axe and smash this—thing to pieces.”

“They would not let me,” replied the man, shrugging his shoulders. “Hadst best do as they want, sir. You can’t fight the whole county.”

“I’ll never yield,” fumed the master.

Charles again shrugged his shoulders, and walking back to the group, said, “Get your firelocks.”

In five minutes forty men were in line on the green, and as the greatest landholder of the county sat in the stocks, in a break-neck attitude, with a chill growing in fingers and toes, he was forced to watch a rude and disorderly attempt at company drill, superintended by his own servant. It was a clumsy, wayward mass of men, and frequent revolts from orders occurred, which called forth sharp words from the drill-master. These in turn produced retorts or jokes from the ranks that spoke ill for the discipline, and a foreign officer, taking the superficial aspect, would have laughed to think that such a system could make soldiers. Further observation and thought would have checked his amused contempt, for certain conditions there were which made these men formidable. Angry as they became at Fownes, not one left the ranks, though presence was purely voluntary, and scarce one of them, ill armed though he might be, but was able to kill a squirrel or quail at thirty paces.

When the drill had terminated, a result due largely to the smell of cooking which began to steal from the houses facing the green, Charles drew Bagby aside, and after a moment’s talk, the two, followed by most of the others, crossed to the squire.

“Mr. Meredith,” said Charles, “I’ve passed my word to Bagby that you’ll pay your share if he’ll but release you, and that you won’t try to prosecute him. Wilt back up my pledge?”

The prisoner, though blue and faint with cold, shook his head obstinately.

“There! I told you how it would be,” sneered Bagby.

“But I tell you he’ll be frosted in another hour. ’T will be nothing short of murder, man.”

“Then let him contribute his share,” insisted Bagby.

“’T is unfair to force a man on a principle.”

“Look here,” growled Bagby. “We are getting tired of your everlasting hectoring and attempting to run everything. Just because you know something of the manual don’t make you boss of the earth.”

The bondsman glanced at the squire, and urged, “Come, Mr. Meredith, you ’d better do it. Think how anxious Mrs. Meredith and—will be, aside from you probably taking a death cold, or losing a hand or foot.”

At last the squire nodded his head, and without more ado Bagby stooped and unlocked the log. Mr. Meredith was so cramped that Charles had to almost lift him to his feet, and then give him a shoulder into the public room of the tavern, where he helped him into a chair before the fire. Then the servant called to the publican:—

“A jorum of sling for Mr. Meredith, and put an extra pepper in it.”

“That sounds pretty good,” said Bagby. “Just make that order for the crowd, and the squire’ll pay for it.”

While the favourite drink of the period was sizzling in the fire, Mr. Meredith recovered enough to pull out his purse and pay up the debatable levy. A moment later the steaming drink was poured into glasses, and Bagby said:—

“Now, squire, do the thing up handsome by drinking to the toast of liberty.”

“I’ll set you a better toast than that,” offered the bondsman.

“’T ain’t possible,” cried one of the crowd.

The servant raised his glass and with an ironical smile said:—

“Here ’s to liberty and fair play, gentlemen.”

“That ’s a toast we can all drink,” responded Bagby, “just as often as some one’ll pay for the liquor.”