hich he held in his hand, until
she handed over to him the money he had asked her for. They knew quite
well that he would be as good as his word, and that refusal meant death by
torture to Dinah; so the poor mother was compelled to give in, and finding
that this plan answered his purpose so well, he repeated the performance
until he had had nearly every penny poor old Mrs. Hamlyn was possessed of.

Amongst the numerous animals he owned, there was one favourite mare,
--a vicious, uncontrollable creature,--on which he used to scour the
country at a terrible pace, spreading terror wherever he went. He never
cared in the least how many people or animals he knocked over and trampled
to death; the more weak and helpless they were the more he seemed to love
to hurt them.

One evening, after spending a few festive hours at a neighbour's house,
he was just on the point of departing when he happened to notice seated by
the hearth a poor little half-witted tailor, who always went by the name
of 'Uncle Tom.'

Uncle Tom was a very quiet, extremely nervous little man, well-known and
pitied by all. He went from house to house all over the countryside,
doing a day's work at one house, and half a day's at another, and in most
houses he was given a meal in addition to his trifling pay, for everyone
liked him, he was always willing and obliging, and had never harmed anyone
in his life.

"Hulloa, Uncle Tom!" cried Coppinger boisterously, going up and laying
a heavy hand on the thin, shaking shoulder of the little tailor.
"We are both bound for the same direction. Come along with me, I'll give
you a lift on my mare."

The old man shrank away nervously, mumbling all sorts of excuses, for he
above all people lived in deadly terror of Cruel Coppinger, also of his
vicious mare, and the idea of being at the mercy of them both nearly
scared away what few wits he had.

The sight of his terror, though, only made Coppinger more determined to
frighten him. He loved to torment so helpless a victim, and the other
people present, partly from love of mischief, but chiefly to please
Coppinger, egged the tormentor on.

In spite of his struggles and entreaties they hoisted the poor little
tailor on to the back of the prancing, restive beast, and held him there
while Coppinger sprang up.

No sooner were they both mounted than up reared the mare, danced round on
her hind legs a time or two, and then sprang away along the road at a rate
which it