"I am sorry for it. If it had killed him, it would have served him right,"
added the squire, who had suddenly become as bold as a lion--as bold as
two lions.

"Come, father, let's carry him up stairs, and put him to bed."

"Do you think I am going to do anything for this young scoundrel!"
exclaimed the squire, indignantly. "Why, he stoned Fred and me to-day, and
stoned the horse, and made him run away and break the chaise all to
pieces."

"But we mustn't leave him here in this situation. He may die."

"Let him die."

"But what will folks say?"

The more humane wife evidently understood the weak point of the squire,
for nothing but slavery and the Southern Confederacy could have induced
him to set at defiance the public sentiment of Pinchbrook.

"Well, carry him up stairs then; but he never will get out of my house
till he has been severely punished for his crimes."

The squire and Fred took hold of the senseless form of poor Tom, and
carried it up stairs, where it was placed upon the sofa in the sitting
room. Mrs. Pemberton had the reputation of being "an excellent hand in
sickness," and she immediately applied herself to the duty of restoring
the sufferer to consciousness.