f his unblotted
character--character of which the original whiteness could never, never
be restored! He would always be the boy who had sat in the stocks! And
the words uttered by the Squire came back on his soul, like the voice of
conscience in the ears of some doomed Macbeth. "A sad disgrace,
Lenny--you'll never be in such a quandary." "Quandary," the word was
unfamiliar to him; it must mean something awfully discreditable. The
poor boy could have prayed for the earth to swallow him.

CHAPTER VIII.

"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