'I really think,' said Mr. Christian, 'that we may dismiss the case against young Runham. If my brother magistrates agree with me'—He looked round and met with nods of approval. 'The charge against Mark Runham seems to be a mistake. There is actually nothing in it, and the Bench sincerely regrets that, through a misunderstanding, and possibly through an excess of zeal on the part of Mr. Drownlands, you, Mark Runham, should have been placed in the position you have. Constable, discharge him.' 'Thank you, gents,' said Zita. 'You've done right, and I'm glad of it. As I came here, I heard that you had given orders for Pip to be called. I did think you then a set of ninnies—but now'— 'That will do. You can leave the witness-box.' 'No, sir—your worship, not yet. I have not quite said all I want to say. I am very much obliged that you have listened to reason and have let Mark go. And, your worships, there are six of you on the bench. I have got just six toasting-forks in stock—the beautifullest toasting-forks that ever you saw. They have red japanned handles and brass mounts, and fold up small, like telescopes, into the handle. And if your worships will do me the favour of coming to Prickwillow, I'll furnish every one of you with a toasting-fork.' 'That will do; leave the witness-box.' 'And, your worships, if you will pass over poor Pip Beamish,—he's not right in his head,—I'll let you have a real epergne to raffle for between you.' 'Constable, remove that girl. Turn her out of the court,' ordered the chairman, red with laughter. 'I pity the man she chooses as her husband,' said Christian behind his hand to Abbott, when his order was being carried out. 'Or Drownlands, whose companion she is,' whispered the admiral. 'No—hang it!' said Mr. Christian. 'No more of that. I am sure that girl is as straight as a whistle. You cannot look in her honest face and hear her cheery voice and not swear she is as good and clean as gold. 'Pon my life, Abbott, I have a mind to go for my toasting-fork. What say you? You are an old acquaintance, as you heard,—swallowed knives at the fair,—will you go?' CHAPTER XXXI PISGAH Zita was standing in the room Drownlands called his office, in conversation with the master. 'What did you mean by that which you said to the magistrates—that you were tied here by frost, held by mud, and that when frost went and mud dried you would be free to go?' 'It is so.' 'You will leave me?'