"It isn't seven o'clock yet," said Tom pointing to the great wooden clock
in the corner of the room.

"You joined a mob to pillage and destroy the property of a peaceable
citizen. You broke in--"

"No, sir; the cellar door broke in," interposed the culprit.

"You broke into my house to set it afire!" continued the squire, in a
rage.

"No, sir, I did not. I only went round there to see the fun," replied Tom,
pointing to the rear of the house; "and the cellar door broke down and let
me in. I did not mean to do you or your house any harm; and I didn't do
any, except breaking the cellar door, and I will have that mended."

"Don't tell me, you young villain! You meant to burn my house."

"No, I didn't mean any thing of the kind," replied Tom, stoutly. "I was
going off when the door broke down. The boards were rotten, and I should
think a man like you ought to have better cellar doors than those are."

The squire didn't relish this criticism, especially from the source whence
it came. There was a want of humility on the part of the culprit which the
magnate of Pinchbrook thought would be exceedingly becoming in a young man
in his situation. The absence of it made him more angry than before. He
stormed and hurled denunciations at the offender; he rehearsed the
mischief he had done during the day, and alluded in strong terms to that
which he intended to perpetrate in the "dead watches of the night"--which
was the poetical rendering of half-past six in the evening; for the squire