Indies by it!"

"Not so fast, your honour," answered Hawkins, sturdily. "I hope you will
think better of it, and see that I have not been to blame. But if you
should not, there is some harm that you can do me, and some harm that
you cannot. Though I am a plain, working man, your honour, do you see?
yet I am a man still. No; I have got a lease of my farm, and I shall not
quit it o' thaten. I hope there is some law for poor folk, as well as for
rich."

Mr. Tyrrel, unused to contradiction, was provoked beyond bearing at the
courage and independent spirit of his retainer. There was not a tenant
upon his estate, or at least not one of Hawkins's mediocrity of fortune,
whom the general policy of landowners, and still more the arbitrary and
uncontrollable temper of Mr. Tyrrel, did not effectually restrain from
acts of open defiance.

"Excellent, upon my soul! God damn my blood! but you are a rare fellow.
You have a lease, have you? You will not quit, not you! a pretty pass
things are come to, if a lease can protect such fellows as you against
the lord of a manor! But you are for a trial of skill? Oh, very well,
friend, very well! With all my soul! Since it is come to that, we will
show you some pretty sport before we have done! But get out of my sight,
you rascal! I have not another word to say to you! Never darken my doors
again."

Hawkins (to borrow the language of the world) was guilty in this affair
of a double imprudence. He talked to his landlord in a more peremptory
manner than the constitution and practices of this country allow a
dependent to assume. But above all, having been thus hurried away by his