to be punished."

"Of course, my dear, and we'll have the constables over from town, and
he shall be found. It won't be very hard to do."

"Why not, father?"

"Because many of the men have no guns."

"But they might borrow, father?"

"The easier to find out then," said the squire. "Well, one must eat
whether a man's shot or no. History does not say that everybody went
without his supper because King Charles's head was cut off. Mother,
draw the ale. Dick, tell Sarah to bring in those hot potatoes. I'm
hungry, and I've got to sit up all night."

There proved to be no real need, for the squire's patient slept soundly,
and there was nothing to disturb the silence at the Toft. But morning
found the squire still watching, with Mrs Winthorpe busy with her
needle in the dining parlour, and Dick lying down on the hearth-rug, and
sleeping soundly by the glowing fire. For about four o'clock, after
strenuously refusing to go to bed, he had thought he would lie down and
rest for a bit, with the result that he was in an instant fast asleep,
and breathing heavily.

By breakfast-time Farmer Tallington had heard the news, and was over
with Tom, each ready to listen to the squire's and Dick's account; and
before nine o'clock Dave and John Warren, who had come over to
Hickathrift's, to find him from home, came on to the Toft to talk with
Dick and Tom, and stare and gape.

"Why, theer heven't been such a thing happen since the big fight wi' the
smugglers and the king's men," said Dave.

To which John Warren assented, and said it was "amaazin'."

"And who do you think it weer?" said Dave, as he stood scratching his
ear; and upon being told the squire's opinion, he shook his head, and
said there was no knowing.

"It's a bad thing, Mester Dick, bringing straangers into a plaace. Yow
nivver know what characters they've got. Why, I do believe--it's a
turruble thing to say--that some of they lads at work at big dree-ern
hevven't got no characters at all."

"Here be Hickathrift a-coming wi' doctor," said John Warren.

And sure enough there was the doctor on his old cob coming along the fen
road, with Hickathrift striding by his side, the man of powder and
draught having been from home with a patient miles away when Hickathrift
reached the town, and not returning till five o'clock.

"He'll do right enough, squire," said the doctor. "Young man like he is
soon mends a hole in his flesh. You did quite right; but I suppose