'Do, father,
let me send Forest at once to tell the gardeners to open all the
gates.'
The Squire defied her to do any such thing. What was all the silly
fuss about? The County people could open the gates in half-an-hour
if they wanted. It was a demonstration--a protest--a case to go to
the Courts on. He had principles--if no one else had. And if they
weren't other people's principles, what did it matter? He was ready
to stand by them, to go to prison for them. He folded his arms
magnificently.
Pamela laughed excitedly, and shook her head.
'Oh, no, father, you won't be a hero--only a laughing-stock! That's
what Desmond minds so much. They won't send you to prison. Some
tiresome old Judge will give you a talking-to in Court, and you
won't be able to answer him back. And then they'll fine you--and we
shall be a little more boycotted than we were before! That's all
that'll happen!'
'"Boycotted"?--what do you mean?' said the Squire haughtily.
'Oh, father, can't you _feel_ it?' cried Pamela.
'As if one man could pit himself against a nation!' said Mrs.
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