Smithers paused for a moment, and contemplated the puppet and the model-gallows with great admiration. He had fashioned the one and built the latter himself; and he was not a little proud of his handiwork. "Now, come, Gibbet," he at length exclaimed; "it's all ready. Do you hear me, you infernal hump-back?" "And if I am a hump-back, father," returned the lad, bursting into tears, "you know——" "What?" cried the executioner his countenance assuming an expression truly ferocious. "You know that it isn't my fault," added the unfortunate youth, shrinking from the glance of his savage parent. "None of this nonsense, Gibbet," said the man, a little softened by the reminiscence that he himself had made his son the object of the very reproach levelled against his personal deformity. "Come and try your hand at this work for a few minutes before breakfast; and then we'll go down yonder together." Gibbet approached the model-gallows; but his countenance still denoted the most profoundly-rooted disgust and abhorrence. "Let's suppose that the culprit is as yet in his own cell, Gibbet," continued the executioner. "Well, it's time to pinion him, we'll say; there's the sheriffs standing there—and here's the chaplain. Now, you go for'ard and begin." Gibbet took the whip-cord which his father handed to him. "That's right. Now you won't bounce up to the poor devil just like a wild elephant: remember that he's more or less in an interesting situation—as the ladies say. You'll rather glide behind him, and insinuate the cord between his arms, whispering at the same time, '_Beg pardon_.' Mind and don't forget that; because we're under an obligation to him to some extent, as he's the means of putting money in our pocket, and we get the reversion of his clothes." Here Gibbet cast a hasty but terrified glance towards his father's attire. "Ah! I know what you're looking at, youngster," said Smithers, with a coarse laugh; "you want to see if I've got on my usual toggery? To be sure I have. I wear it as a compliment to the gentleman that we're to operate on this morning. This coat was the one that Pegsworth cut his last fling in: this waistcoat was Greenacre's; and these breeches was William Lees's. But go on—we mustn't waste time in this way." [Illustration] Gibbet approached the puppet, and endeavoured to manipulate the string as his father instructed him; but his hand trembled so convulsively that he could not even pass it between the arms of the figure. While he was still fumbling with the cord, and vainly endeavouring to master his emotions, the leathern thong descended with tremendous violence upon his back. An appalling cry burst from the poor lad; but the executioner only showered down curses on his head. At length Gibbet contrived, through fear of another blow, to pinion the figure in a manner satisfactory to his brutal parent.