A small boy was held across the bellows, two or three children of smaller and larger growth were holding him down, and many others of the village were gazing in at the window, while a man, half-naked, was lashing the little boy with a whip, and occasioning the cries heard by the travellers.

As the horse drew up, the operator looked at the new-comers for a moment, and then proceeded incontinently with his work; belabouring the child more fiercely than ever.
When he had done, he turned round to the new-comers and asked how he could serve them?
whereupon Mr.Wood (for such was the name he adopted, and by such we shall call him to the end) wittily remarked that however he might wish to serve THEM, he seemed mightily inclined to serve that young gentleman first.
"It's no joking matter," said the blacksmith: "if I don't serve him so now, he'll be worse off in his old age.

He'll come to the gallows, as sure as his name is Bill---never mind what his name is." And so saying, he gave the urchin another cut; which elicited, of course, another scream.
"Oh! his name is Bill ?" said Captain Wood.
"His name's NOT Bill!" said the blacksmith, sulkily.

"He's no name; and no heart, neither.

My wife took the brat in, seven years ago, from a beggarly French chap to nurse, and she kept him, for she was a good soul" (here his eyes began to wink), "and she's--she's gone now" (here he began fairly to blubber).