"Three shillings and eightpence, your worship--I could not abate a penny
and set forth the value honestly."

The justice glanced around uncomfortably upon the crowd, then nodded to
the constable, and said--

"Clear the court and close the doors."

It was done. None remained but the two officials, the accused, the
accuser, and Miles Hendon. This latter was rigid and colourless, and on
his forehead big drops of cold sweat gathered, broke and blended
together, and trickled down his face. The judge turned to the woman
again, and said, in a compassionate voice--

"'Tis a poor ignorant lad, and mayhap was driven hard by hunger, for
these be grievous times for the unfortunate; mark you, he hath not an
evil face--but when hunger driveth--Good woman! dost know that when one
steals a thing above the value of thirteenpence ha'penny the law saith he
shall HANG for it?"

The little King started, wide-eyed with consternation, but controlled
himself and held his peace; but not so the woman. She sprang to her
feet, shaking with fright, and cried out--

"Oh, good lack, what have I done! God-a-mercy, I would not hang the poor
thing for the whole world! Ah, save me from this, your worship--what
shall I do, what CAN I do?"

The justice maintained his judicial composure, and simply said--