the charge against Callaghan on the
following morning, and begged him not to have the man flogged; and Tom
King, the man from whom the sugar was stolen, went with her and joined
his pleadings to hers.

'Now, come, doctor,' said my mother, placing her hand on the old
officer's arm and smiling into his face, 'you _must_ grant me this
favour. The man is far too old to be flogged. And then he was a soldier
himself once--he was a drummer boy, so he once told me, in the 4th
Buffs.'

'The most rascally regiment in the service, madam. Every one of them
deserved hanging. But,' and here his tone changed from good-humoured
banter into sincerity, 'I honour you, Mrs Egerton, for your humanity.
The man is over sixty, and I promise you that he shall not be flogged.
Why, he is scarce recovered yet from the punishment inflicted on him for
stealing Major Innes's goose. But yet he is a terrible old rascal.'

'Never mind that,' said my mother, laughing. 'Major Innes should keep
his geese from straying about at night-time. And then, doctor, you
must remember that poor Callaghan said that he mistook the bird for a
pelican--it being dark when he killed it.'

'Ha, ha,' laughed the doctor, 'and no doubt Mr Patrick Callaghan only
discovered his mistake when he was cooking his pelican, and noticed its
remarkably short bill.'

My mother left, well pleased, but on the following morning, while we
were at our mid-day meal, she was much distressed to hear that old
Callaghan had received fifty lashes after all--the good doctor had been
thrown from his horse and so much hurt that he was unable to attend the
court, and another magistrate--a creature of Mr Sampson's--had taken his
place. The news was brought to us by Thomas King, and my mother's pale
face flushed with anger as, bidding King to go into the kitchen and get
some dinner, she turned to my father (who took but little heed of such a
simple thing as the flogging of a convict), and said hotly,--

''Tis shameful that such cruelty can be perpetrated! I shall write to
the Governor himself--he is a just and humane man--oh, it is wicked,
wicked,' and then she covered her face with her hands and sobbed aloud.

My father was silent. He detested the parson most heartily, but was too
cautious a man, in regard to his own interest, to give open expression
to his opinions, so beyond muttering something to my brother Harry about
Thomas King having no business to distress her, he was about to rise
from