28 THE LIFE OF THE FIELDS. 



the field, and came back towards the boy, keeping him 

 between her and the corner. Caw! said the rooks, 

 Caw! Caw! Thwack, thwack, bang, went the ash 

 stick on the sleeping boy, heavily enough to have 

 broken his bones. Like a piece of machinery suddenly 

 let loose, without a second of dubious awakening and 

 without a cry, he darted straight for the gap in the 

 corner. There the faggot stopped him, and before he 

 could tear it away the old woman had him again, 

 thwack, thwack, and one last stinging slash across his 

 legs as he doubled past her. Quick as the wind as he 

 rushed he picked up the bag of acorns and pitched it into 

 the mound, where the acorns rolled down into a pond 

 and were lost a good round shilling's worth. Then 

 across the field, without his cap, over the rising ground, 

 and out of sight The old woman made no attempt 

 to hold him, knowing from previous experience that it 

 was useless, and would probably result in her own 

 overthrow. The faggot, brought a quarter of a mile 

 for the purpose, enabled her, you see, to get two good 

 chances at him. 



A wickeder boy never lived: nothing could be 

 done with the reprobate. He was her grandson 

 at least, the son of her daughter, for he was not 

 legitimate. The man drank, the girl died, as was be- 

 lieved, of sheer starvation : the granny kept the child, 

 and he was now between ten and eleven years old. 

 She had done and did her duty, as she understood it. 

 A prayer-meeting was held in her cottage twice a week, 

 she prayed herself aloud among them, she was a lead- 

 ing member of the sect Neither example, precept, 

 nor the rod could change that boy's heart. In time 



