The next day the Squire rode up to the door of the Rectory soon
after one o'clock. Mr. Bastow had just finished his meal; his son,
a young fellow of between seventeen and eighteen, was lolling in
an easy chair.

"I have come in principally to speak to you, young sir," John
Thorndyke said quietly. "I have been asking your father what you
intend to do with yourself. He says he does not know."

The young fellow looked up with an air of insolent effrontery.

"I don't know that it is any business of yours, Mr. Thorndyke, what
I do with myself."

"Oh, yes, it is," the Squire replied. "This village and the people
in it are mine. You are disturbing the village with your blackguard
conduct; you are annoying some of the girls on the estate, and
altogether you are making yourself a nuisance. I stopped at the
alehouse as I came here, and have ordered the landlord to draw no
more liquor for you, and unless you amend your conduct, and that
quickly, I will have you out of the village altogether."

"I fancy, Mr. Thorndyke, that, even as a justice of the peace, you
have not the power to dictate to my father who shall be the occupant
of this house."

"What you say is perfectly true; but as you make your father's life
a burden to him, and he is desirous of your absence, I can and will
order the village constable to remove you from his house by force,
if necessary."