“Plaize, sir, I can’t tell ’e, sir. Nobody taught me, as I knows on.” “You young liar, you couldn’t teach yourself. What you mean is, that you don’t choose to tell me. Know, I must, and know I will, if I have to thrash it out of you.” He had seized him now by his gorgeous waistcoat, and held the strong horsewhip over his back. “Now, will you tell, or will you not?” “I ’ont, I ’ont. If ’e kills me, I ’ont,” the boy cried, wriggling vainly, and with great tears of anticipation rolling down his sun-burnt cheeks. The parson admired the pluck of the boy, knowing his own great strength of course, and feeling that if he began to smite, the swing of his arm would increase his own wrath, and carry him perhaps beyond reason. Therefore he offered him one chance more. “Will you tell, sir, or will you not?” “I ’ont tell; that I ’ont,” screamed Bonny; and at the word the lash descended. But only once, for the smiter in a moment was made aware of a dusty rush, a sharp roar of wrath, and great teeth flashing under mighty jaws. And perhaps he would never have walked again if he had not most suddenly wheeled his pony, and just escaped a tremendous snap, well aimed at his comely and gaitered calf. “Ods bods!” cried the parson, as he saw the jackass (with a stretched-out neck, and crest erect, eyes flashing fire, and a lashing tail, and, worst of all terrors, those cavernous jaws) gathering legs for a second charge, like an Attic trireme, Phormio’s own, backing water for the diecplus. “May I be dashed,” the rector shouted, “if I deal any more with such animals! If I had only got my hunting-crop; but, kuk, kuk, kuk, pony! Quick, for God’s sake! Off with you!” With a whack of full power on the pony’s flanks, away went he at full gallop; while Jack tossed his white nose with high disdain, and then started at a round trot in pursuit, to scatter them more disgracefully, and after them sent a fine flourish of trumpets, to the grand old national air of hee-haw. While the Rev. Struan Hales was thus in sore discomfiture fleeing away as hard as his pony could be made to go, and casting uneasy glances over one shoulder at his pursuer, behold, he almost rode over a traveller footing it lightly round a corner of the lane! “Why, Uncle Struan!” exclaimed the latter; “is the dragon of St. Leonard’s flying after you? Or is this the usual style of riding of the beneficed clergy?” “Hilary, my dear boy,” answered the rector; “who would have thought of seeing you? You are just come in time to defend your uncle from a ravenous beast of prey. I was going home to bait a badger, but I have had a pretty good bait myself. Ah, you pagan, you may well be ashamed of yourself, to attack your clergyman!” For Jack, perceiving the reinforcement, and eyeing the stout stick which Hilary bore, prudently turned on his tail and departed, well satisfied with his exploit.