"Your name is, I believe--Brady--Jim Brady--correct me if I am wrong--
and you have come here, you--you--young--villain--to steal my birds."

The frightened boy walked slowly backwards, followed by the old man
with his fiery eyes fixed upon his face, till at last concussion
against the trunk of a great tree prevented further retreat. Here he
stood for about thirty seconds, writhing under the glance that seemed
to pierce him through and through, till at last he could stand it no
longer, but flung himself on the ground, roaring:

"Oh! don't ee, squire; don't ee now look at me with that 'ere eye.
Take and thrash me, squire, but don't ee fix me so! I hayn't had no
more nor twenty this year, and a nest of spinxes, and Tom Smith he's
had fifty-two and a young owl. Oh! oh!"

Enraged beyond measure at this last piece of information, Mr.
Caresfoot took his victim at his word, and, ceasing his ocular
experiments, laid into the less honourable portion of his form with
the gold-headed malacca cane in a way that astonished the prostrate
Jim, though he was afterwards heard to declare that the squire's cane
"warn't not nothing compared with the squire's eye, which wore a hot
coal, it wore, and frizzled your innards as sich."

When Jim Brady had departed, never to return again, and the old man
had recovered his usual suavity of manner, he remarked to his son:

"There is some curious property in the human eye; a property that is,
I believe, very much developed in my own. Did you observe the effect
of my glance upon that boy? I was trying an experiment on him. I