"I'll let go, you young villain, when I've done with you, but not before. I'll teach you to steal my melons; and then you can go home and tell your father how it is done," replied the farmer, as he twisted the cravat of the poor boy till he could hardly breathe.

Sandy, finding that any violent resistance was hopeless, submitted to his fate with the best grace he could command; but he only waited his chance for something to turn up that would afford him an opportunity to escape. He intended to use his wits, rather than his muscle, on this occasion; and his prudence saved him from some portion of the hard usage that was bestowed upon his companion in misery.

"Keep cool, d.i.c.k," said he, in a low tone, when he saw that his friend was wasting his strength and adding to his discomfort by useless resistance to the fiat of destiny.

Richard profited by this hint; and when he became calm and reasonable, the farmer relaxed his grasp, and permitted him to breathe with more freedom.

"Who are they, Bates?" asked the farmer of his foreman.

"I don't know them; it is so dark I can't make them out," replied Bates.

"We'll take them up to the barn, and see what they look like."

"They have been here before, I think," added the foreman. "I am pretty sure I saw them the other night."

"No, you didn't," said Richard, testily. "I never was here before."

"Perhaps you never was, my boys; but when chaps like you go far enough to steal, you don't stand about a lie or two to cover it up. Now, boys, you may take up that bag, and carry it to the barn."

"I won't carry it," said Richard, promptly.

"Won't you?" And the farmer again applied the twisting process to his cravat, till the boy's strength was almost gone from the choking sensation.

"Let go of me! You'll choke me to death!" gasped Richard, who had never before been so roughly handled.

"Will you carry the bag up to the barn, then?" demanded Mr. Batterman, as he eased off the pressure upon the prisoner's throat.

"No, I won't!" replied Richard.

"Now, I think you will," said the farmer, as he resumed the torture.

"Come, d.i.c.k, we may as well do it. It is no use to kick; we are in for it, and you had better make the best of it," interposed Sandy, who was disposed to get off as cheaply as he could.

"I won't touch the bag! I'll die first!" gasped Richard, whose rage had now reached the boiling point, and there was no more reason in him than in a mad dog.

"He's a hard one," suggested Bates.

"But he shall come to it, or I'll break every bone in his body,"

answered the farmer.

Richard, insane with pa.s.sion, and choking with rage as well as from the discipline of Mr. Batterman, commenced a tremendous struggle for freedom and self-preservation. He sprang towards his captor in an ineffectual attempt to hit him, or to scratch out his eyes with his finger nails. Failing in his efforts in this direction, he began to use his heels as vigorously as a three-year old colt, and succeeded in planting two or three hard kicks upon the shins of the farmer.

Mr. Batterman was a large and powerful man, and the efforts of Richard were as puny as those of a lamb in the fangs of the lion. He foamed and struggled till his strength was exhausted, and his conqueror permitted him to drop upon the ground.

"You've killed him," said Sandy, very much alarmed at the apparent fate of his friend.

"If I have, that's his business, not mine," answered the farmer, without betraying any remorse at what he had done.

But Richard was not killed, or even very badly injured. The choking had deprived him of all his strength; but a few minutes' respite from persecution restored him in a great measure, and he attempted to get up, when he was promptly seized by the farmer again.

"Will you carry the bag up to the barn, or will you try some more of the same sort?" asked Mr. Batterman, in a tone which fully indicated his intention to resume his harsh treatment.

"I can't carry it," replied Richard, in an altered tone, which was, at least, suggestive of a "caving in" of his obdurate will.

"You carried it very well before you were caught, and perhaps you can again," sneered the farmer.

"Come, d.i.c.k, take hold of the bag," said Sandy. "It's no use."

"I wasn't brought up to do that kind of work," replied Richard, whose pride, quite as much as his self-will, prompted him to refuse to do the degrading office.

"Take your choice, and be quick," said Mr. Batterman, preparing to apply his disciplinary powers again. "Take hold of the bag at once, or I'll shake the life out of you."

Richard could not stand another dose of the farmer's exhausting medicine, and he sullenly seized the bag, while Sandy took hold of the other side. Bates and the farmer kept close to them, so that there was no chance to break away. After changing hands several times, they reached the barn, and placed the melons in the position designated by their tormentors.

"Now, who are you?" asked the farmer, when they had disposed of the bag.

"None of your business," answered Richard, in a low, sullen tone.

"You haven't got enough of it yet. Bates, bring the lantern, and fetch a cowhide with you, while you are about it."

Richard did not like the sound of this last order. It was ominous of a painful and degrading operation, a process of discipline to which he had never before been subjected. The idea of being whipped was almost as terrible as that of being shot through the head or heart.

"Will you tell me your name, young man?" demanded the farmer, when the foreman had gone. "Let me inform you in the beginning, that I am in no humor to be trifled with. You can answer me or not, just as you think best."

"I would rather not tell my name," replied Richard, in a subdued tone.

The son of the rich broker of Woodville had conscientious scruples on this point; for though he did not scruple to commit the theft, he was fully alive to the disgrace of being exposed. The good name, the worldly reputation of his family, seemed to be of more value than a conscience void of offence before Him who readeth all hearts. To speak of the sin of the act was but to utter trite and commonplace words, which could be found in any cheap catechism; but to mention the disgrace attending the exposure of that sin, was to touch him where he was keenly sensitive.

"You must tell me your name," said Mr. Batterman, firmly. "What is your name?" he added, turning to Sandy, whom he now held with one hand.

"Sanderson Brimblecom," answered he, for he had no family reputation to guard.

"Now, yours?" said he to Richard.

The broker's son made no reply. He had now too much respect for Mr.

Batterman to irritate him with words, and too much respect for the name he bore to connect it with the theft he had committed. He waited in silence till Bates came with the lantern.

CHAPTER III.

RICHARD FINDS THAT NO CHASTENING SEEMETH TO BE JOYOUS.

"Tell him who you are, d.i.c.k," said Sandy, when Bates appeared with the lantern. "What's the use of trying to cover up your name, when the light will blow the whole thing?"

"Well, d.i.c.k," added the farmer, adopting the name Sandy had used, "if you don't tell me who you are, I shall see what virtue there is in that cowhide."