. 'Depend upon it you were wrong, John,' was all I could get
out of her; though what had I done but listen, and touch my forelock,
when called upon. 'John, you may take my word for it, you have not done
as you should have done. Your father would have been shocked to think of
going to Baron de Whichehalse, and in his own house insulting him! And
yet it was very brave of you John. Just like you, all over. And (as none
of the men are here, dear John) I am proud of you for doing it.'

All throughout the homeward road, Uncle Ben had been very silent,
feeling much displeased with himself and still more so with other
people. But before he went to bed that night, he just said to me,
'Nephew Jack, you have not behaved so badly as the rest to me. And
because you have no gift of talking, I think that I may trust you.
Now, mark my words, this villain job shall not have ending here. I have
another card to play.'

'You mean, sir, I suppose, that you will go to the justices of this
shire, Squire Maunder, or Sir Richard Blewitt, or--'

'Oaf, I mean nothing of the sort; they would only make a laughing-stock,
as those Devonshire people did, of me. No, I will go to the King
himself, or a man who is bigger than the King, and to whom I have ready
access. I will not tell thee his name at present, only if thou art
brought before him, never wilt thou forget it.' That was true enough,
by the bye, as I discovered afterwards, for the man he meant was Judge
Jeffreys.

'And when are you likely to see him, sir?'

'Maybe in the spring, maybe not until summer, for I cannot go to London
on purpose, but when my business takes me there. Only remember my words,
Jack, and when you see the man I mean, look straight at him, and tell
no lie. He will make some of your zany squires shake in their shoes, I
reckon. Now, I have been in this lonely hole far longer than I intended,
by reason of this outrage; yet I will stay here one day more upon a
certain condition.'

'Upon what condition, Uncle Ben? I grieve that you find it so lonely. We
will have Farmer Nicholas up again, and the singers, and--'

'The fashionable milkmaids. I thank you, let me be. The wenches are too
loud for me. Your Nanny is enough. Nanny is a good child, and she shall
come and visit me.' Uncle Reuben would always call her 'Nanny'; he said
that 'Annie' was too fine and Frenchified for us. 'But my condition is
this, Jack--that you shall guide me to-morrow, without a word to any
one, to