The next day brushes were wanted for the jail.  This saved Robinson for that day.  It was little Josephs’ turn to suffer.  The governor put him on a favorite crank of his, and gave him eight thousand turns to do in four hours and a half.  He knew the boy could not do it, and this was only a formula he went through previous to pillorying the lad.  Josephs had been in the Pillory about an hour when it so happened that the Reverend John Jones, the chaplain of the jail, came into the yard.  Seeing a group of warders at the mouth of the labor-cell, he walked up to them, and there was Josephs in peine forte et dure.

“What is this lad’s offense?” inquired Mr. Jones.

“Refractory at the crank,” was the reply.

“Why, Josephs,” said the reverend gentleman, “you told me you would always do your best.”

“So I do, your reverence,” gasped Josephs; “but this crank is too heavy for a lad like me, and that is why I am put on it to get punished.”

“Hold your tongue,” said Hodges roughly.

“Why is he to hold his tongue, Mr. Hodges?” said the chaplain quietly; “how is he to answer my question if he holds his tongue?  You forget yourself.”

“Ugh! beg your pardon, sir, but this one has always got some excuse or other.”

“What is the matter?” roared a rough voice behind the speakers.  This was Hawes, who had approached them unobserved.

“He is gammoning his reverence, sir—­that is all.”

“What has he been saying?”

“That the crank is too heavy for him, sir, and the waistcoat is strapped too tight, it seems.”

“Who says so?”

“I think so, Mr. Hawes.”

“Will you take a bit of advice, sir?  If you wish a prisoner well don’t you come between him and me.  It will always be the worse for him, for I am master here and master I will be.”

“Mr. Hawes,” replied the chaplain, “I have never done or said anything in the prison to lessen your authority, but privately I must remonstrate against the uncommon severities practiced upon prisoners in this jail.  If you will listen to me I shall be much obliged to you—­if not, I am afraid I must, as a matter of conscience, call the attention of the visiting justices to the question.”

“Well, parson, the justices will be in the jail to-day—­you tell them your story and I will tell them mine,” said Hawes, with a cool air of defiance.

Sure enough, at five o’clock in the afternoon two of the visiting justices arrived, accompanied by Mr. Wright, a young magistrate.  They were met at the door by Hawes, who wore a look of delight at their appearance.  They went round the prison with him, while he detained them in the center of the building till he had sent Hodges secretly to undo Josephs and set him on the crank; and here the party found him at work.

“You have been a long time on the crank, my lad,” said Hawes, “you may go to your cell.”