"Kettles and frying-pans! what has us here?" cried the tinker.
This time Mr. Sprott was without his donkey; for, it being Sunday, it is
to be presumed that the donkey was enjoying his Sabbath on the common.
The tinker was in his Sunday's best, clean and smart, about to take his
lounge in the park.
Lenny Fairfield made no answer to the appeal.
"You in the wood, my baby! Well, that's the last sight I should ha'
thought to see. But we all lives to larn," said the tinker
sententiously. "Who gave you them leggins? Can't you speak, lad?"
"Nick Stirn."
"Nick Stirn! Ay, I'd ha' ta'en my davy on that: and cos vy?"
"'Cause I did as he told me, and fought a boy as was trespassing on
these very stocks; and he beat me--but I don't care for that; and that
boy was a young gentleman, and going to visit the Squire; and so Nick
Stirn--"
Lenny stopped short, choked by rage and humiliation.
"Augh," said the tinker, staring, "you fit with a young gentleman, did
you? Sorry to hear you confess that, my lad! Sit there, and be thankful
you ha' got off so cheap. 'Tis salt and battery to fit with your
betters, and a Lunnon justice o' peace would have given you two months
o' the treadmill. But vy should you fit 'cause he trespassed on the
stocks? It ben't your natural side for fitting, I takes it."
Lenny murmured something not very distinguishable about serving the
Squire, and doing as he was bid.
"Oh, I sees, Lenny," interrupted the tinker, in a tone of great
contempt, "you be one o' those who would rayther 'unt with the 'ounds
than run with the 'are! You be's the good pattern boy, and would peach
agin your own horder to curry favor with the grand folks. Fie, lad! you
be sarved right: stick by your horder, then you'll be 'spected when you
gets into trouble, and not be 'varsally 'espised--as you'll be arter
church time! Vell, I can't be seen 'sorting with you, now you are in
this here drogatory fix; it might hurt my cracter, both with them as
built the stocks, and them as wants to pull 'em down. Old kettles to
mend! Vy, you makes me forgit the Sabbath. Sarvent, my lad, and wish you
well out of it; 'spects to your mother, and say we can deal for the pan
and shovel all the same for your misfortin."
The tinker went his way. Lenny's eye followed him with the sullenness of
despair. The tinker, like all the tribe of human comforters, had only
watered the brambles to invigorate the prick of the thorns. Yes, if
Lenny had been caught breaking the stocks, some at least would have
pitied him; but to be incarcerated for defending them, you might as well
have expected that the widows and orphans of the Reign of Terror would
have pitied Dr. Guillotin when he slid through the grooves of his own
deadly machine. And even the tinker, itinerant, ragamuffin vagabond as
he was, felt ashamed to be found with the pattern boy! Lenny's head sank
again on his breast, heavily as if it had been of lead. Some few minutes
thus passed, when the unhappy prisoner became aware of the presence of
another spectator to his shame: he heard no step, but he saw a shadow
thrown over the sward. He held his breath, and would not look up, with
some vague idea that if he refused to see he might escape being seen.