"There," added the Squire, turning triumphantly towards his Harry, who looked with great admiration at this unprecedented burst of learning on the part of Mr Hazeldean--"There, two can play at that game! And now that we have all seen the stocks, we may as well go home, and drink tea. Will you come up and play a rubber, Dale? No!--hang it, man, I've not offended you--you know my ways." "That I do, and they are among the things I would not have altered," cried the Parson--holding out his hand cheerfully. The Squire gave it a hearty shake, and Mrs Hazeldean hastened to do the same. "Do come; I am afraid we've been very rude; we are sad blunt folks. Do come; that's a dear good man; and of course poor Mrs Dale too." Mrs Hazeldean's favourite epithet for Mrs Dale was _poor_, and that for reasons to be explained hereafter. "I fear my wife has got one of her bad headaches, but I will give her your kind message, and at all events you may depend upon me." "That's right," cried the Squire, "in half-an-hour, eh?--How d'ye do, my little man?" as Lenny Fairfield, on his way home from some errand in the village, drew aside and pulled off his hat with both hands. "Stop--you see those stocks--eh? Tell all the bad little boys in the parish to take care how they get into them--a sad disgrace--you'll never be in such a quandary!" "That at least I will answer for," said the Parson. "And I too," added Mrs Hazeldean, patting the boy's curly head. "Tell your mother I shall come and have a good chat with her to-morrow evening." And so the party passed on, and Lenny stood still on the road, staring hard at the stocks, which stared back at him from its four great eyes. But Lenny did not remain long alone. As soon as the great folks had fairly disappeared, a large number of small folks emerged timorously from the neighbouring cottages, and approached the site of the stocks with much marvel, fear, and curiosity. In fact, the renovated appearance of this monster--_à propos de bottes_, as one may say--had already excited considerable sensation among the population of Hazeldean. And even as when an unexpected owl makes his appearance in broad daylight, all the little birds rise from tree and hedgerow, and cluster round their ominous enemy, so now gathered all the much excited villagers round the intrusive and portentous Phenomenon. "D'ye know what the diggins the Squire did it for, Gaffer Solomons?" asked one many-childed matron, with a baby in arms, an urchin of three years old clinging fast to her petticoat, and her hand maternally holding back a more adventurous hero of six, who had a great desire to thrust his head into one of the grisly apertures. All eyes turned to a sage old man, the oracle of the village, who, leaning both hands on his crutch, shook his head bodingly. "Maw be," said Gaffer Solomons, "some of the boys ha' been robbing the orchards."