After I had flung up the stones, letting them fall just where I liked--and one, I remember, fell on the head of Mark, where I dare say it remains to the present day--the parson, who was one of the description of people called philosophers, held up his hand, and asked me to let the next stone I flung up fall into it.

He wished, do you see, to know with what weight the stone would fall down, and talked something about gravitation--a word which I could never understand to the present day, save that it turned out a grave matter to me.

I, like a silly fellow myself, must needs consent, and, flinging the stone up to a vast height, contrived so that it fell into the parson's hand, which it cut dreadfully.

The parson flew into a great rage, more particularly as everybody laughed at him, and, being a magistrate, ordered his clerk, who was likewise constable, to conduct me to prison as a rogue and a vagabond, telling my comrades that if they did not take themselves off, he would serve them in the same manner.

So Ned hopped off, and Giles ran after him, without making any gathering, and I was led to Bridewell, my mittimus following at the end of a week, the parson's hand not permitting him to write before that time.