. Then he turned upon Mike.

The boy had sidled round with his back against the wall, and stood
there with his left elbow up and his fists half clenched. For the
space of half a minute the mayor eyed him, and he eyed the mayor.

'Sit down, Mike,' said the mayor gently.

'Goo! What d'ye take me for?' said Mike, lifting his hands a little.

'Sit down, I tell you.'

'Huh--yes, an' let you cop me over the head? You just try it--that's
all; you just come an' try it?'

'I--er--have no intention of trying it,' said Mr Pinsent.
'It certainly would not become me to administer--to inflict--corporal
punishment on a youth of your--er--inches. What grieves me--what
pains me more than I can say, is to find a boy of your--er-size
and er--development--by which I mean mental development, sense of
responsibility--er--mixed up in this disgraceful affair.
I had supposed it to be a prank, merely--a piece of childish
mischief--and that the perpetrators were quite small boys.'
(Here--not a doubt of it--Mr Pinsent was telling the truth.)

'Why,' he went on, with the air of one making a pleasant little
discovery, 'I shouldn't be surprised to find you almost as tall as
myself! Yes. I declare I believe you are quite as tall! No'-he
put up a hand as Mike, apparently suspecting a ruse, backed in a
posture of defence--'we will not take our measures to-day. I have
something more serious to think about. For you will have noticed
that while I suspected this robbery to be the work of small
thoughtless boys, I treated it lightly; but now that I find a great
strapping fellow like you mixed up in the affair, it becomes my
business to talk to you very seriously indeed.'

And he did. He sat down facing Mike Halloran across the table, and
read him a lecture that should have made any boy of Mike's size
thoroughly ashamed of himself; and might have gone on admonishing for
an hour had not Mrs Salt knocked again at the door.

'If you please,' announced Mrs Salt, 'here's the Widow Barnicutt from
the Quay to see you, along with her red-headed 'Dolphus.'

'Which,' said the Widow Barnicutt, panting in at her heels and
bobbing a curtsey, 'it's sorry I am to be disturbin' your Worship,
and I wouldn't do it if his poor father was alive and could give 'em
the strap for his good. But the child bein' that out of hand that
all my threats do seem but to harden him, and five shillin' a week's
wage to an unprovided woman; and I hope your Worship will ex