He flung the last words at his wife, who sat in the vehicle, and glared at her maliciously as if he dared her to deny the fact. Then his eyes sought one corner of the square about which stood the crowd of marketers, composed of the rougher element, and for the most part consisting of touts and drovers, though there was a small sprinkling of farmers, and in one part a tall sergeant from the regiment stationed in the town. His gaze fixed itself upon a lad some fourteen years of age, down at heel and shabbily dressed. In fact, his clothes hung grotesquely about him, for they were the cast-off garments of the farmer, and had had but little alteration. He was bareheaded, his cap lying at the farmer's feet, showing that the latter had struck him already. The little fellow stood there looking fearfully at his master, waiting for the thrashing which he knew would be given him as soon as the horse's injuries had been seen to. But if he feared his master's blows there was an air of desperation about the lad now, and his clenched fists seemed to argue that he would not suffer without offering some opposition. "Broken the knees of the best horse in the stable and lost me thirty guineas," growled the man. "Come here and take your whipping!" "Leave the lad alone, George," cried his wife, looking fearfully at her husband. "He couldn't help it. The horse slipped on the cobbles. Ask any one who stood near at hand." "And all because you'd save his skin from a hiding. Hold your tongue, woman," retorted the farmer, snapping the words at her. He was a nasty-tempered fellow, as any one could see, and the opposition offered by his wife hardly helped to smooth his anger. He wrapped a piece of linen about the animal's knees, and then calmly unstrapped the leather belt which was about his waist. And all the while the crowd looked on expectantly, while the lad cowered in his corner, trembling with apprehension. A moment or two later the ruffianly farmer stepped towards him, and as he stretched out a hand to take him by the shoulder struck the boy a cruel blow across the face with his strap. Next second a tiny fist flew out, and the knuckles struck the brute full in the mouth. At once there was intense silence in the crowd. All held their breath while they awaited the result of such audacity, craning their heads to obtain a better view. As for the farmer he staggered back, spitting blood from his mouth, and growling out curses at the boy. Then his anger got the better of his discretion, and he threw himself furiously at the boy, his eyes blazing with rage, and his strap held well aloft, prepared to deal a stinging blow. But it was never delivered, for just as Mr. Benjamin Halbut pressed his way to the front, and stepped into the square with the intention of putting a stop to the contest, the sergeant who had been a spectator of the scene ran from his corner and faced the man. "Fair play!" he cried. "The lad's too small. Strike one of your own size and weight."