"Aye, 't was this one that kicked Nimrod." Nimrod confirmed his
statement by growling fiercely and snapping at the heels of the taller
of the two Indians.

"Call off thy dog," said the Goodman sternly, and though Dan felt it
would be no more than fair to allow Nimrod one good bite, considering
all he had suffered, he obediently collared Nimrod and shut him inside
the kitchen. The faces of the Indians were like stone masks as they
stood helpless before their captors with the light of the flaming
torch shining upon them.

"Go in with thy family, Neighbor Pepperell," said Stephen Day. "There
are enough of us and to spare to guard the savages. Mayhap a night in
the stocks will cool their hot blood and help them to remember what
they have done with the slave lad. If not, the judge will mete out to
them the punishment they deserve."

"Right willingly will I leave them in your hands," answered the
Goodman, "for truly I am spent."

Whether the Indians understood their words, or not, they knew well
the meaning of pointed guns, for they marched off toward the village
without even a grunt of protest when Stephen Day gave the word of
command.

The Goodman was so weary that his wife and children forbore asking
questions until he was a little rested and refreshed. He sank down
upon the settle with Nimrod beside him, and Dan removed his muddy
boots, and brought water for him to wash in, while Nancy and her
mother hastened to put the long-delayed supper on the table.