Do come; that's a dear good man; and of course poor Mrs.Dale too." Mrs.
Hazeldean's favourite epithet for Mrs.Dale was poor, and that for reasons to be explained hereafter.
"I fear my wife has got one of her bad headaches, but I will give her your kind message, and at all events you may depend upon me." "That's right," said the squire; "in half an hour, eh?
How d' ye do, my little man ?" as Lenny Fairfield, on his way home from some errand in the village, drew aside and pulled off his hat with both hands.

"Stop; you see those stocks, eh?
Tell all the bad boys in the parish to take care how they get into them--a sad disgrace--you'll never be in such a quandary ?" "That at least I will answer for," said the parson.
"And I too," added Mrs.Hazeldean, patting the boy's curly head.
"Tell your mother I shall come and have a good chat with her to-morrow evening." And so the party passed on, and Lenny stood still on the road, staring hard at the stocks, which stared back at him from its four great eyes.
Put Lenny did not remain long alone.

As soon as the great folks had fairly disappeared, a large number of small folks emerged timorously from the neighbouring cottages, and approached the site of the stocks with much marvel, fear, and curiosity.
In fact, the renovated appearance of this monster a propos de bottes, as one may say--had already excited considerable sensation among the population of Hazeldean.

And even as when an unexpected owl makes his appearance in broad daylight all the little birds rise from tree and hedgerow, and cluster round their ominous enemy, so now gathered all the much-excited villagers round the intrusive and portentous phenomenon.
"D' ye know what the diggins the squire did it for, Gaffer Solomons ?" asked one many-childed matron, with a baby in arms, an urchin of three years old clinging fast to her petticoat, and her hand maternally holding back a more adventurous hero of six, who had a great desire to thrust his head into one of the grisly apertures.

All eyes turned to a sage old man, the oracle of the village, who, leaning both hands on his crutch, shook his head bodingly.
"Maw be," said Gaffer Solomons, "some of the boys ha' been robbing the orchards." "Orchards!" cried a big lad, who seemed to think himself personally appealed to; "why, the bud's scarce off the trees yet!" "No more it ain't," said the dame with many children, and she breathed more freely.
"Maw be," said Gaffer Solomons, "some o' ye has been sitting snares." "What for ?" said a stout, sullen-looking young fellow, whom conscience possibly pricked to reply,--"what for, when it bean't the season?
And if a poor man did find a hear in his pocket i' the haytime, I should like to know if ever a squire in the world would let 'un off with the stocks, eh ?" This last question seemed a settler, and the wisdom of Gaffer Solomons went down fifty per cent in the public opinion of Hazeldean.
"Maw be," said the gaffer--this time with a thrilling effect, which restored his reputation,--"maw be some o' ye ha' been getting drunk, and making beestises o' yoursel's!" There was a dead pause, for this suggestion applied too generally to be met with a solitary response.