"What dost thou hold this property to be worth?"
The woman courtesied and replied—
"Three shillings and eightpence, your worship—I could not abate a penny and set forth the value honestly."
The justice glanced around uncomfortably upon the crowd, then nodded to the constable and said—
"Clear the court and close the doors."
It was done. None remained but the two officials, the accused, the accuser, and Miles Hendon. This latter was rigid and colorless, and on his forehead big drops of cold sweat gathered, broke and blended together, and trickled down his face. The judge turned to the woman again, and said, in a compassionate voice—
"'Tis a poor ignorant lad, and mayhap was driven hard by hunger, for these be grievous times for the unfortunate; mark you, he hath not an evil face—but when hunger driveth—Good woman! dost know that when one steals a thing above the value of thirteen pence ha'penny the law saith he shall hang for it!"
The little king started, wide-eyed with consternation, but controlled himself and held his peace; but not so the woman. She sprang to her feet, shaking with fright, and cried out—
"O, good lack, what have I done! God-a-mercy, I would not hang the poor thing for the whole world! Ah, save me from this, your worship—what shall I do, what can I do?"
The justice maintained his judicial composure, and simply said—
"Doubtless it is allowable to revise the value, since it is not yet writ upon the record."
"Then in God's name call the pig eightpence, and heaven bless the day that freed my conscience of this awesome thing!"
Miles Hendon forgot all decorum in his delight; and surprised the king and wounded his dignity, by throwing his arms around him and hugging him. The woman made her grateful adieux and started away
