r. The victim
lay upon his face, and the squire had to turn him over to obtain a view of
his countenance.

"I declare it is one of the Somers boys!" exclaimed Mrs. Pemberton, as her
husband brought the face of Thomas to her view.

"The young villain!" ejaculated the squire. "It is lucky he was killed, or
the house would have been in flames before this time. He is a desperate
young scoundrel."

"But he isn't dead, father!" said Mrs. Pemberton, as she knelt upon the
cold ground, and felt the pulse of the insensible boy. "He is only
stunned."

"I am sorry for it. If it had killed him, it would have served him right,"
added the squire, who had suddenly become as bold as a lion--as bold as
two lions.

"Come, father, let's carry him up stairs, and put him to bed."

"Do you think I am going to do anything for this young scoundrel!"
exclaimed the squire, indignantly. "Why, he stoned Fred and me to-day, and
stoned the horse, and made him run away and break the chaise all to
pieces."

"But we mustn't leave him here in this situation. He may die."

"Let him die."

"But what will folks say?"

The more humane wife evidently understood the weak point of the squire,
for nothing but slavery and the Southern Confederacy could have induced
him to set at defiance the public sentiment of Pinchbrook.

"Well, carry him up stairs then; but he never will get out of my house
till he has been severely punished for his crimes."

The squire and Fred took hold of the senseless form of poor Tom, and
carried it up stairs, where it was placed upon the sofa in the sitting
room. Mrs. Pemberton had the reputation of being "an excellent hand in
sickness," and she immediately applied herself to the duty of restoring
the sufferer to consciousness.

"Don't you think you had better go after the doctor, father?" asked the
good woman. "Some of his bones may be broken, or he may be injured
inwardly."

"I shall not go for any doctor," snarled the squire. "Do you think I will
trust myself out doors while tha