The squire thought he would not go home, which was as much as to say he would not let him go home.  Tom’s wits were a little confused, after the hard knock he had received upon the head, and all he could do was to stand and look at the oracle of Pinchbrook, and wait for further developments.

“Young man,” said the squire, sternly, and in tones that were intended to make a deep impression upon the mind of the young man, “your time has come.”

The squire paused, and looked at the culprit to ascertain the effect of the startling announcement; but Tom seemed to be perfectly cool, and was not annihilated by the suggestive remark of the great man of Pinchbrook.

“You have become a midnight marauder,” added the squire, poetically.

“It isn’t seven o’clock yet,” said Tom pointing to the great wooden clock in the corner of the room.

“You joined a mob to pillage and destroy the property of a peaceable citizen.  You broke in—­”

“No, sir; the cellar door broke in,” interposed the culprit.

“You broke into my house to set it afire!” continued the squire, in a rage.

“No, sir, I did not.  I only went round there to see the fun,” replied Tom, pointing to the rear of the house; “and the cellar door broke down and let me in.  I did not mean to do you or your house any harm; and I didn’t do any, except breaking the cellar door, and I will have that mended.”

“Don’t tell me, you young villain!  You meant to burn my house.”

“No, I didn’t mean any thing of the kind,” replied Tom, stoutly.  “I was going off when the door broke down.  The boards were rotten, and I should think a man like you ought to have better cellar doors than those are.”

The squire didn’t relish this criticism, especially from the source whence it came.  There was a want of humility on the part of the culprit which the magnate of Pinchbrook thought would be exceedingly becoming in a young man in his situation.  The absence of it made him more angry than before.  He stormed and hurled denunciations at the offender; he rehearsed the mischief he had done during the day, and alluded in strong terms to that which he intended to perpetrate in the “dead watches of the night”—­which was the poetical rendering of half-past six in the evening; for the squire was fond of effective phrases.

Tom ventured to hint that a man who would not stand by his country when her flag was insulted and “trailed in the dust”—­Tom had read the daily papers—­ought to be brought to his senses by such expedients as his fellow-citizens might suggest.  Of course this remark only increased the squire’s wrath, and he proceeded to pronounce sentence upon the unlucky youth, which was that he should be taken to the finished room in the attic, and confined there under bolts and bars till the inquisitor should further declare and execute his intentions.

Mrs. Pemberton and Susan remonstrated against this sentence, prudently suggesting the consequences which might result from detaining the boy.  But the squire declared he should not go till he had at least horsewhipped him; and if there was any justice left in the land, he would send him to the county jail in the morning.