“Hans Peter will not remain long in the stocks,” he said, burying his heavy chin in his neckcloth. “He will soon tell what he knows about the Bible. He would have confessed this morning, but Mother Werther made him so comfortable in the potato-bin that he did not take the trouble to think over our injunction to lay bare the facts about the Bible.” “Even though Hans Peter may not remain in the stocks an hour, you must confine his hands and feet less closely. I dare say he is numb now,” Everett insisted. “Well, well, I will call one of the carpenters,” said the Herr Doktor, but he did not move from his chair. “I will wait until the carpenter comes,” said Everett; “and he must come without delay.” Adolph Schneider sullenly conceded to Everett’s humane demand, and they went out to the stocks together. A crowd had gathered in the square, and some of the boys who had escaped from Gerson Brandt’s care were jeering at the simple one. Hans Peter made no sign until Everett spoke to him. Everett ascended the three steps to the platform of the stocks and waited impatiently while Hans Peter’s hands and feet were freed temporarily. The simple one was quite stiff when he was commanded to stand up. He straightened his back with some difficulty, although he had not been an hour in the stocks. Everett stooped to examine the marks upon the lad’s ankles. “Can you call yourselves Christians, and torture a boy in this fashion?” he inquired, in anger, addressing the Herr Doktor. “Hans Peter is none the worse for a little lesson that will teach him to obey the commands of Zanah,” Adolph Schneider answered. “Do you intend to put him back?” Everett asked. Adolph Schneider showed some signs of hesitation, but Karl Weisel replied: “He shall stay there until his contumacious spirit is broken. He must be punished until he confesseth.” “Are you sure that you do not wish to tell where the Bible is?” Everett asked, kindly. But the simple one replied: “They can keep me in the stocks until I die. I care not. I will not deliver the Sacred Book into their hands.” His lips were white, and the perspiration stood upon his forehead, over which his matted hair hung into his eyes. He tried to raise his hand to his head, but the pain made the effort futile. Everett took one of the simple one’s swollen hands in his and began to chafe the arms, which were numb. The carpenters soon had their work done, and Karl Weisel ordered Hans Peter back to his place in the stocks. “Isn’t there something I can do to prevent this outrage?” Everett spoke in a threatening tone. “How can you stoop to such persecution?” Involuntarily he clinched his hands and drew himself up to his full height. Towering above the men of Zanah, he looked from one to the other, as if undecided which to knock down first. Karl Weisel took the precaution to leave the platform, and when safe on the ground he answered, tauntingly: