Sir Charles Bassett was a magistrate, and soon found himself a bad one.
One day he made a little mistake, which, owing to his popularity, was
very gently handled by the Bench at their weekly meeting; but still Sir
Charles was ashamed and mortified. He wrote directly to Oldfield for
law books, and that gentleman sent him an excellent selection bound in
smooth calf.
Sir Charles now studied three hours every day, except hunting days,
when no squire can work; and as his study was his justice room, he took
care to find an authority before he acted. He was naturally humane, and
rustic offenders, especially poachers and runaway farm servants, used
to think themselves fortunate if they were taken before him and not
before Squire Powys, who was sure to give them the sharp edge of the
law. So now Sir Charles was useful as well as ornamental.
Thus passed fourteen months of happiness, with only one little
cloud--there was no sign yet of a son and heir. But let a man be ever
so powerful, it is an awkward thing to have a bitter, inveterate enemy
at his door watching for a chance. Sir Charles began to realize this in
the sixteenth month of his wedded bliss. A small estate called
"Splatchett's" lay on his north side, and a marginal strip of this
property ran right into a wood of his.
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