"Who made her?" he asked, having listened to the charge.
"God, 'tis to be supposed."
"God makes no evil."
"The Devil, then."
"Then whack the Devil."
They fell on the pasteboard dragon and belaboured him. The sun poured down on the Mayor's throne; and his mother, who sat by his right hand wondering at his sense, gave him water to drink from the bottle. They brought a third case—a boy who had been caught torturing a cow. He had taken a saw, and tried to saw off one of her horns while she was tethered in her stall.
The Mayor leapt up from his seat.
"Kill him!" he shouted, "take him off and kill him!" His face was twisted with passion, and he lifted his stick. The crowd fell back for a second, but the old woman leant forward and touched her son softly on the leg. He stopped short: the anger died out of his face, and he shivered.
"No," he said, "I was wrong, naybours. The
