Archer, in the division of the food, had attempted, by the most scrupulous exactness, to content the public, and he was both astonished and provoked to perceive that his impartiality was impeached. So differently do people judge in different situations! He was the first person to accuse his master of injustice, and the least capable of bearing such an imputation upon himself from others. He now experienced some of the joys of power, and the delight of managing unreasonable numbers. “Have not I done everything I could to please you? Have not I spent my money to buy you food? Have not I divided the last morsel with you? I have not tasted one mouthful to-day! Did not I set to work for you at sunrise? Did not I lie awake all night for you? Have not I had all the labour, and all the anxiety? Look round and see _my_ contrivances, _my_ work, _my_ generosity! And, after all, you think me a tyrant, because I want you to have common sense. Is not this bun which I hold in my hand my own? Did not I earn it by my own ingenuity from that selfish dunce” (pointing to Fisher), “who could never have gotten one of his twelve buns, if I had not shown him how? Eleven of them he has eaten since morning for his own share, without offering anyone a morsel; but I scorn to eat even what is justly my own, when I see so many hungry creatures longing for it. I was not going to touch this last morsel myself. I only begged you to keep it till supper-time, when perhaps you’ll want it more, and Townsend, who can’t bear the slightest thing that crosses his own whims, and who thinks there’s nothing in this world to be minded but his own diversion, calls me a _tyrant_. You all of you promised to obey me. The first thing I ask you to do for your own good, and when, if you had common sense, you must know I can want nothing but your good, you rebel against me. Traitors! fools! ungrateful fools!” Archer walked up and down, unable to command his emotion, whilst, for the moment, the discontented multitude was silenced. “Here,” said he, striking his hand upon the little boy’s shoulder, “here’s the only one amongst you who has not uttered one word of reproach or complaint, and he has had but one bit of bread—a bit that I gave him myself this day. Here!” said he, snatching the bun, which nobody had dared to touch, “take it—it’s mine—I give it to you, though you are a Greybeard; you deserve it. Eat it, and be an Archer. You shall be my captain; will you?” said he, lifting him up in his arm above the rest. “I like you now,” said the little boy, courageously; “but I love De Grey better; he has always been my friend, and he advised me never to call myself any of those names, Archer or Greybeard; so I won’t. Though I am shut in here, I have nothing to do with it. I love Dr. Middleton; he was never unjust to _me_, and I daresay that he has very good reasons, as De Grey said, for forbidding us to go into that house. Besides, it’s his own.”