Munsle, your lawyer, he could tell me how to direct to you. But having
hoped and waited o' this fashion, and all in vain, has put me upon other
thoughts. I was in no hurry, sir, to apply to you; for I do not love to
be a trouble to any body. I kept that for my last stake. Well, sir, and
now that has failed me like, I am ashamed, as it were, to have thought
of it. Have not I, thinks I, arms and legs as well as other people? I am
driven out of house and home. Well, and what then? Sure I arn't a
cabbage, that if you pull it out of the ground it must die. I am
pennyless. True; and how many hundreds are there that live from hand to
mouth all the days of their life? (Begging your honour's pardon) thinks
I, if we little folks had but the wit to do for ourselves, the great
folks would not be such maggotty changelings as they are. They would
begin to look about them.

"But there is another thing that has swayed with me more than all the
rest. I do not know how to tell you, sir,--My poor boy, my Leonard, the
pride of my life, has been three weeks in the county jail. It is true
indeed, sir. Squire Tyrrel put him there. Now, sir, every time that I
lay my head upon my pillow under my own little roof, my heart smites me
with the situation of my Leonard. I do not mean so much for the
hardship; I do not so much matter that. I do not expect him to go
through the world upon velvet! I am not such a fool. But who can tell
what may hap in a jail! I have been three times to see him; and there is
one man in the same quarter of the prison that looks so wicked! I do not
much fancy the looks of the rest. To be sure, Leonard is as good a lad
as ever lived. I think he will not give his mind to such. But come what
will, I am determined he shall not stay among them twelve hours longer.
I am an obstinate old fool perhaps; but I have taken it into my head,
and I will do it. Do not ask me what. But, if I were to write to your
honour, and wait for your answer, it might take a week or ten days more.