"Hold hard," said Joe, "don't go on flogging the horses like that, the wheels are so stuck, that they cannot move the cart." The man took no heed, but went on lashing.
"Stop! pray stop," said Joe, "I'll help you to lighten the cart, they can't move it now."
"Mind your own business, you impudent young rascal, and I'll mind mine." The man was in a towering passion, and the worse for drink, and laid on the whip again. Joe turned my head, and the next moment we were going at a round gallop towards the house of the master brickmaker. I cannot say if John would have approved of our pace, but Joe and I were both of one mind, and so angry, that we could not have gone slower.
The house stood close by the roadside. Joe knocked at the door and shouted, "Hulloa! is Mr. Clay at home?" The door was opened, and Mr. Clay himself came out.
"Hulloa! young man! you seem in a hurry; any orders from the Squire this morning?"
"No, Mr. Clay, but there's a fellow in your brickyard flogging two horses to death. I told him to stop and he wouldn't; I said I'd help him to lighten the cart, and he wouldn't; so I've come to tell you; pray sir, go." Joe's voice shook with excitement.
"Thank ye, my lad," said the man, running in for his hat; then pausing for a moment—"Will you give evidence of what you saw if I should bring the fellow up before a magistrate?"
"That I will," said Joe, "and glad too." The
