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The old man turned round with a look of sudden rage in his grey face which startled Lampard; but he said nothing, he only opened and shut his mouth two or three times without a sound. Meanwhile the pony had been going slower and slower for the last thirty or forty yards, and now when they were abreast of the tree stood still. "What be stopping for?" cried Lampard.
"But, Master Lampard, suppose I don't swing, they'll send I over the water and I'll never see the wife and children no more." "Maybe so; I'm thinking that's how 'twill be." "Then will 'ee do me a kindness? 'Tis the only one I ever asked 'ee, and there'll be no chance to ask 'ee another." "I can't say, Johnnie, not till I know what 'tis you want." "'Tis only this, Master Lampard.
"Get on get on, or we'll never get to Salisbury this day." Then at length old Blaskett found a voice. "Does thee know what thee's saying, Master Lampard, or be thee a stranger in this parish?" "What d'ye mean, Daddy? I be no stranger; I've a-known this parish and known 'ee these nine years." "Thee asked why I stopped when 'twas the pony stopped, knowing where we'd got to.
"Time's up!" cried Lampard presently, and taking him by the collar pulled him to his feet; in a couple of minutes more they were in the cart and on their way. It was grey weather, very cold, with an east wind blowing, but for the rest of that dreary thirteen-miles journey Johnnie was very quiet and submissive and shed no more tears. What had been his motive in wishing to stand by the tree?
Then with an effort he restrained his sobs, and lifting a red, swollen, tear-stained face he stammered out: "Master Lampard, did I ever ask 'ee a favour in my life?" "What be after now?" said the other suspiciously. "Well, no, Johnnie, not as I remember." "An' do 'ee think I'll ever come back home again, Master Lampard?" "Maybe no, maybe yes; 'tis not for me to say."
The constable Lampard was a big, powerful man, with a great round, good-natured face, but just now he had a strong sense of responsibility, and to make sure of not losing his prisoner he handcuffed him before bringing him out and helping him to take his seat on the bottom of the cart.
But thee's not born here or thee'd a-known what a hoss knows. An' since 'ee asks what I says, I say this, 'twill not hurt 'ee to let Johnnie Budd stand one minute by the tree." Feeling insulted and puzzled the constable was about to assert his authority when he was arrested by Johnnie's cry, "Oh, Master Lampard, 'tis my last hope!" and by the sight of the agony of suspense on his swollen face.
There wasn't ever a Lampard in this parish. That I know." "You don't know! There certainly was a Lampard or it would not be stated here, cut in deep letters on this stone." "No, there wasn't a Lampard. I've never known such a name and I've lived here all my life." "But there were people living here before you came on the scene. He died a long time ago, this Lampard in 1714, it says.
Johnnie lost his head, and dropping on his knees confessed his guilt and begged his old friend Lampard to have mercy on him and to overlook it for the sake of his wife and children.
Johnnie was now lying coiled up on his rug, his face hidden between his arms, abandoned to grief, sobbing aloud. Lampard, sitting athwart the seat so as to keep an eye on him, burst out at last: "Be a man, Johnnie, and stop your crying! 'Tis making things no better by taking on like that. What do you say, Daddy?"
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