“Yes,” said Kate, the tears running down her cheeks, “take me to my father. I wish I had not come here; but indeed--indeed--this is no fault of mine.” “No; of that I am very sure. You are inexperienced, that is all. There come the constables; they will separate the combatants. Be no further concerned for them. I will not now leave you till you are safe out of the fair.” CHAPTER XVII INSURED Pasco Pepperill had taken the schoolmaster with him through the market-place. He was greeted on all sides by acquaintances and would-be dealers. Pasco’s strut became more consequential as he returned the salutations, and he looked out of the corners of his eyes at his companion, to see what impression was made on him by the deference with which he was received. “I bought wool--two hundred pounds’ worth--of that man. Coaker is his name,” said Pasco, indicating a moor farmer jogging in on his cob. “I bought last Friday. Do you see Ezra Bornagin? There, sneaking behind his missus. He’s had coals of me all the winter, on tick. Hasn’t paid a penny, and I’m in doubts whether I shall see the colour of my money. But I’m not one to be crushed by a few bad debts.” Presently, “There’s the landlady of the ‘Crown,’ at Newton. She knows where to get good spirits at a moderate figure--that hasn’t paid duty--tobacco also. Coombe Cellars is a fine place for a trade in such goods.” “How d’ y’ do, Pepperill?” said a bluff farmer, coming up and extending an immense red hand. “Come here to buy or to sell to-day?” “Both,” answered Pasco. “It doesn’t do to let money lie idle.” “Ah! if a chap has got money--but when he hasn’t, that’s another matter. I want to sell.” “What?” “Hides; will you buy? Had bad luck with my beasts.” “Don’t know; I’ll see.” “It’s terrible bad times,” said the big man. “I suppose it is--for some folks,” answered Pepperill. “I say, I hear you’ve got the ‘Swing’ on again down your way.” “Not quite that, I hope. There has been an incendiary fire, but it was the work of one man, not of a gang. I reckon the ‘Swing’ conspiracy was done with in ’30.” “Don’t be too sure. One fire has a fatal knack o’ kindling others, ’specially if the fellow gets off who did the job.” “He has escaped,” said Pasco; “but we know pretty well who did the mischief. It was one Roger Redmore. He’d been turned off for imperence to his master, and drink, and that’s how he revenged himself. I wish he’d been caught. A fellow who sets fire a-purpose to rick or barn or house, if I had my way, would be hung without mercy. No transportation; that’s too mild. Swing, I say, at a rope’s end, and so put an end to all incendiarism.” “I reckon you’re about right,” said the farmer. “If there comes another fire, I shall get insured. The fellow is at large.” “Ay, but he won’t do any further mischief of this sort. It was a bit o’ personal revenge, nothing more; not like them old combinations.”