Mustn't interfere with the course of law and justice."

"It's horrid," cried the child. "I'm sure he has done nothing."

"Come away, my maid. We can't do anything," called Weevil tremulously.

"The man must go to the Brute. Innocent or guilty, it's all the same.

The Brute has us all in turn."

Brightly sat in the corner coughing, and beside him Ju huddled, swallowing the last crumbs of biscuit. They were an unlovely but entirely inoffensive pair. A student of human nature would have acquitted the pinched little man of guilt at a glance, but the policeman was not a student of either human nature, law, or morals. He had promotion to consider, and weak and friendless beings like Brightly were valuable a.s.sets in a place where opportunities for distinction were few.

Brightly had no relations to come behind the constable on a dark night and half murder him. Little difficulties like that compelled him to look the other way when commoners set the law aside. But Brightly and Ju were fair game, and the constable had long regarded them as such.

"You come along with me," he said pleasantly, pulling at Brightly's sleeve. "Best come quiet, and I've got to warn ye that anything you ses will be used agin ye. If you tries to get away again 'twill go hard wi'

ye."

"What ha' I done, sir?" whispered Brightly, lifting his thin face and pathetic spectacles. He was not usually of an inquisitive nature, but he was curious then to learn the particular nature of the villainies he had committed.

The policeman winked at Weevil and smiled greasily, meaning to imply that the prisoner was an old hand and a desperate character.

"Ain't he a booty?" he said, with professional admiration for a daring criminal. "Wants to know what he's done. Well, I'll tell ye. Thursday night, not last week, but week avore, you set on Varmer Chegwidden as he was a-riding home peaceable across Gibbet Hill, and you pulled 'en off his horse, and stripped the clothes off 'en, and flung 'en into vuzzy-bushes, and purty nigh murdered 'en, and you steals his money and his clothes, and you'm a-wearing his clothes now; and he wants to know what he've been and done," said the policeman, with another wink at Weevil's distressed countenance.

"What nonsense!" cried Boodles. "He pull Chegwidden off his horse! Why, Chegwidden could keep him off with two fingers."

"He'm one of the artfullest criminals in the country," explained the constable.

"How did you get those clothes?" asked the girl, turning towards the accused.

"Picked 'en up in a wheal, your reverent," answered Brightly.

"Didn't I tell ye?" cried the policeman. "Artful ain't the word for 'en.

If 'twasn't for me, and the evidence I got agin him, he'd purty nigh make the magistrates believe he was innocent. Walks about in stolen clothes, he du, and says he never stole 'em. Takes a bit of a bad 'un to du that."

Brightly could not understand much about it, but he supposed it was all right. He was evidently a rascal, but he felt almost proud to learn that he had dragged Chegwidden off his horse, although he could not remember having done so. His own impression was that if he had seen Chegwidden approaching he would have fled like a frightened rabbit. He supposed they would not hang him, and anyhow, if they did try, the angel would very likely appear before him and help him to escape, and show him a short-cut to Jerusalem, or tell him how he could get the pony and cart without being accused of having stolen them. He got up, ready to go with the policeman, and Ju rose too and shook herself, knowing nothing of the law.

"Where's your dog-licence?" demanded the constable.

Brightly looked about in his misery, but his gla.s.ses were so dim he could see nothing. He had always been afraid that question would come, and he had often wondered how he should answer it. He had tried again and again to save up for that licence in pennies and halfpence, but it was quite impossible. The sum never reached a shilling. Prosperous commoners could easily obtain exemption orders for their dogs; but a large sum of money was demanded from him, although he had none, for the right to keep his only little friend.

"I ain't got no paper, sir," he said. "I've tried time and time, but the pennies wun't keep. I couldn't mak' it up. I'll tell 'en how I tried to save it, sir."

Boodles turned to the window and her shoulders began to shake, while old Weevil was using his handkerchief as if he had a cold. The constable was grinning more than ever. After such zeal on his part he considered that his promotion to a more important station was practically a.s.sured.

"Don't tak' the little dog away, sir; don't ye. I ain't got much, sir, only the basket and bit of oil-cloth to keep the rain off, and the vases, and two rabbit-skins, and four pennies in my pocket, and she, sir. I ain't got nothing else, 'cept an old pan to Belstone Cleave what I cooks in, and a few bits o' cloam, and a blanket I sleeps under. I never stoled the clothes, sir. I picked 'en up in the wheal, and reckoned they'd been thrown away. I'll give 'em back, sir. I'll tak' 'em back to Varmer Chegwidden to wance, sir."

The policeman did not listen to that nonsense. He had his duty to think of, and with a loud "Come on here" he fished a bit of rope out of his pocket and tied it round Ju's neck. The dog shrank back, frightened at such roughness, so the man promptly kicked her with his big boot and growled angrily, "Bite me, will ye?"

There was a yelp of pain from the poor beast, and the next moment the constable had himself to think of. Brightly lost control over himself.

He could bear most things fairly well, but not cruelty to Ju. He flung out his raw hands in a blind sort of way, and one went against the policeman's nose, and the other on his ear, astonishing the fat creature a good deal, but not hurting him in the least, as Brightly's arms had no strength in them.

"a.s.saulting the police," he cried triumphantly, feeling for his note-book, "resisting arrest, and keeping a furious animal not under proper control."

"She did not try to bite you," choked Boodles in a tearful manner. "He did not a.s.sault you. He was only protecting his dog;" while old Weevil clutched the table, his head nodding wildly as if it was about to fall off, muttering continually, "The Brute! the Brute!"

"You had better be careful," the child went on. "We shall come and give evidence against you."

The fat constable was more amused than angry at the threat. As if the magistrates would believe a silly old man and a foolish young girl, when he had the crowd of villagers outside to swear that Brightly had knocked him about and Ju had bitten him. Not that the villagers had seen anything, but that would not make much difference, as he could easily tell them what had happened. He had always kept in with them, and winked at their little peccadilloes, and they would not forsake him in the hour of need. On the whole the constable was a much bigger rogue than Brightly.

Presently there was a scene upon the road and much laughter. The policeman went before dragging Ju at the end of the rope, and the villagers followed after, enjoying themselves exceedingly. There was not much excitement in their lives, and this was as good as a pony-drift or an otter-hunt, for Brightly had a.s.sumed the part of buffoon and was making a fool of himself for their delectation. The policeman did not hold him, as he was unlikely to escape again, and besides, Ju was giving so much trouble. She had to be dragged along over the stones and through the gorse, with her tongue hanging out and the rope chafing her neck, and the policeman found it necessary to kick her frequently because she was "so contrairy like"; while Brightly jumped about like a new kind of frog, his gla.s.ses nearly tumbling from his nose, his big useless eyes bulging, and his foolish hands flapping in the air, whining and panting like his dog, and blubbering like a baby.

"Give I back my little dog. Don't ye tak' my little dog away, sir. You'm hurting she cruel, and her ain't done nothing. Ah, don't ye kick she, sir. Let she come wi' I, sir. Her will follow I close. Her wun't run away. Her be scared of yew, sir, and you'm hurting she cruel."

The villagers applauded these sayings, and tried to encourage Brightly to perform again for their benefit. He was funnier than a dancing-bear, and his dramatic efforts were very much appreciated. "Go at 'en again,"

they shouted, and Brightly responded n.o.bly.

"I'll starve and pinch for the money, sir, if yew lets she go. I'll save 'en up somehow, pennies and duppences, till I gets the seven-and-sixpence for the paper. 'Tis a cruel lot o' money for a hungry man, but I'll get it, sir. I'll work day and night and get it, sir."

"Steal it from one of you, likely," shouted the constable, grinning more greasily than ever at the tumultuous laughter which welcomed his subtle humour. He was so delighted at having discovered within him a hitherto unsuspected vein of humour that he tried again, and won instant recognition of his brilliant talent with the inspired witticism, "Walks about in Varmer Chegwidden's clothes, and says he never stole 'em."

"Purty near killed varmer tu. Tored 'en off his horse and beat 'en mazed," added the reprobate, who saw no reason why the policeman should have all the jokes.

Some of the others regarded Brightly with admiration. He was not only a clever low-comedian, but he was also the most desperate character on all Dartmoor. They were well able to appreciate the spirit of lawlessness because their own careers had been strongly marked with the same peculiarity. He was not exactly their idea of what a criminal ought to be, as in appearance he was little better than a half-starved worm, but the fact remained that he was a criminal, and as such was ent.i.tled to receive their admiration and their stones.

"Listen to 'en! He'm play-acting again," shouted the reprobate.

"Du'ye let I have my little dog, sir. Don't ye tak' she away 'cause I can't pay for the paper," whined Brightly, continuing his strange dance of agony. "I ain't got nothing now, sir. My vases be took, and my basket and rabbit-skins, and her be all I have. I'd ha' paid the fine for she, sir, but trade be cruel dull, and the pennies wun't keep. Don't ye tak'

she away, sir. I couldn't go abroad on Dartmoor wi'out she. I'd think and wonder what had come to she, and 'twould hurt I cruel."

"You ain't going to tramp about on Dartmoor. You'm going to prison,"

shouted the witty policeman, while the villagers applauded him again, and Ju struggled, and Brightly went on weeping.

Not every one would have enjoyed the spectacle, although the constable and the crowd appreciated it. The rugged little mountains stood about silently, and became tired perhaps of looking on, for they began to mask their heads in mist. Even the sun didn't like it, and rolled himself up in a dark cloud, and came out no more that day. It was autumn, there was a smell of decay in the air, and a sense of sorrow somehow. The dark days were near; the time when warm earth, bright flowers, joy of life, are so unreal, so far away, that it seems sometimes they may not return again.

In due course Brightly appeared before the magistrates, as sober a set of justices as ever lived, as learned in law as a row of owls, but carefully driven by a clerk, who kept their heads up, and their feet from stumbling into the ditch. The case was fully stated, and witnesses were called, among them Chegwidden, who had missed several Thursday evenings out, and was then only just well enough to attend the court. He explained that he had been riding home from Brentor on a dark windy night, and had been suddenly attacked, dragged off his horse, and stunned by a blow on the head. He remembered nothing more until he found himself in bed at home. He identified the clothes as his property. In answer to a question he admitted he had seen no one, but the attack had been made suddenly, and the night was very dark. Had he been drinking?

Well, he might have taken a gla.s.s at Brentor, but not enough to upset him. He was a sober man. n.o.body had ever seen him the worse for liquor, although he confessed he was not a teetotaler.

Others, who also owned they were not teetotalers, although they were for the most part habitual drunkards, swore that Chegwidden was a sober man, and they had never seen him the worse for liquor. They did not add it was because they had been probably too drunk to see anything. Their evidence was accepted, although the magistrates might have known that it is impossible to obtain evidence which will incriminate a commoner from his own parishioners. They will give evidence against a man of the next parish, but not against one of their own. In such a case perjury is not with them a fault, but a virtue. The members of a parish hang together.

They may hate each other, curse each other, fight with each other, but they will not give evidence against one another before outsiders.

Brightly lived nowhere apparently, having no parish and no clan; therefore any one was prepared to give evidence against him, more especially as he had attacked one of themselves. His guilt was clear enough. The members of the Bench could not in their hearts believe that he had overpowered a strong man like Chegwidden; but the testimony of the clothes could not be set aside. It was obvious he had stolen them.

The constable gave him a bad character. There was no doubt he had been guilty of all kinds of grievous offences, only he was such an artful creature that he had hitherto succeeded in evading the law. He feigned to be asthmatic and half blind in order that he might secure a reputation for inoffensiveness; and he pretended to go about the moor buying rabbit-skins, while it was suspected that his real motive was to steal from farm-houses, or to pa.s.s on any information he might acquire in his wanderings to a gang of burglars who had not as yet been apprehended. The constable made up a very pretty story against Brightly.

The little man listened and tried not to be amazed. So he had been a rascal all the time and had never known it. No doubt it was true, for the gentlemen said so. He had pleaded not guilty, but he could not be sure about it, and he began to suspect that he must have told them a lie.

The chairman, a kindly old gentleman, who had lived long enough to know that it is a pleasant thing to be merciful, was inclined to deal with the case summarily, as it was a first offence; but, unfortunately for Brightly, there was a clergyman upon the Bench, a very able man, who received eight hundred a year for keeping a curate to preach twice on Sundays and perform any little week-day duties that might be required.

He objected strongly, stating it was one of the worst cases he had ever known, and certainly not one in which the quality of mercy could be strained. Clemency on their part would be a mistaken kindness, and would a.s.suredly tend to a regrettable increase of the lawlessness which, as he and his brother magistrates were so well aware, prevailed to such an alarming extent in the mid-Devon parishes. They were then given the opportunity of dealing with an individual who was, he feared, though he was sorry to have to say it plainly, one of the pests of civilisation.

They were there to do their duty, which was necessarily unpleasant and even painful. They were there, not to yield to a false sentiment, and to encourage vice, but to suppress it by every means in their power. If they did not protect law-abiding people from highwaymen and robbers, of what use were they? He ventured to think, and to say, none whatever. He concluded by stating that he was strongly in favour of committing the prisoner for trial at the a.s.sizes.

There was another charge against the miserable Brightly. He had kept a dog without a licence. At that point Boodles stepped forward, with quaint old Weevil at her side, and said in her pretty girlish way that if the magistrates would allow it she would pay for the licence.

Brightly began to weep at that, which was a bad thing for him, as only the worst type of cunning criminals venture upon that sort of appeal to the court. Boodles had a little money saved, and she had easily obtained Weevil's permission to spend part of it in this manner.

The chairman beamed at her through his gla.s.ses, and said she was a very kind-hearted little girl, and he regretted very much they could not take advantage of her generous offer. They appreciated it very much, but he a.s.sured her that she was wasting her kindness and sympathy upon an object totally unworthy. It was their duty, he hoped, to encourage generosity; but it was still more their duty just then to punish vice.

They thanked her very much, but it was quite impossible for many reasons to encourage her kindness on the prisoner's behalf. He hoped she would devote the money to some more deserving cause. Boodles listened with her head down, sighed very much, and then she and Weevil left the court.