Sir Launcelot then told him, there was nothing so good for a
bruise, as a sweat; and he had the remedy in his hand. Timothy, eyeing
the horsewhip askance, observed that there was another still more speedy,
to wit, a moderate pill of lead, with a sufficient dose of gunpowder.
'No, rascal,' cried the knight; 'that must be reserved for your betters.'
So saying, he employed the instrument so effectually, that Crabshaw soon
forgot his fractured ribs, and capered about with great agility.

"When he had been disciplined in this manner to some purpose, the knight
told him he might retire, but ordered him to return next morning, when he
should have a repetition of the medicine, provided he did not find
himself capable of walking in an erect posture.

"The gate was no sooner thrown open, than Timothy ran home with all the
speed of a greyhound, and corrected his wife, by whose advice he had
pretended to be so grievously damaged in his person.

"Nobody dreamed that he would next day present himself at Greavesbury
Hall; nevertheless, he was there very early in the morning, and even
closeted a whole hour altogether with Sir Launcelot. He came out, making
wry faces, and several times slapped himself on the forehead, crying,
'Bodikins! thof he be crazy, I an't, that I an't?' When he was asked
what was the matter, he said, he believed the devil had got in him, and
he should never be his own man again.

"That same day the knight carried him to Ashenton, where he bespoke those
accoutrements which he now wears; and while these were making, it was
thought the poor fellow would have run distracted. He did nothing but
growl, and curse and swear to himself, run backwards and forwards between
his own hut and Greavesbury Hall, and quarrel with the horses in the
stable. At length, his wife and family were removed into a snug
farmhouse, that happened to be empty, and care taken that they should be
comfortably maintained.

"These precautions being taken, the knight, one morning, at daybreak,
mounted Bronzomarte, and Crabshaw, as his squire, ascended the back of a
clumsy cart-horse, called Gilbert. This, again, was looked upon as an
instance of insanity in the said Crabshaw; for, of all the horses in the
stable, Gilbert was the most stubborn and vicious, and had often like to
have done mischief to Timothy while he drove the cart and plough. When
he was out of humour, he would kick and plunge as if the devil was in
him. He once thrust Cr