Victimology 1St Edition Daigle Test Bank Full Chapter PDF

Daigle, Victimology: A Text/Reader Instructor Resource
Victimology 1st Edition Daigle Test Bank

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Section 6: Victims’ Rights and Remedies

Test Bank
Multiple-Choice Questions
1. Which state was the first to enact legislation for victims in 1979?
*a. Wisconsin
b. Washington
c. Illinois
d. California
Question Type: MC
Cognitive Domain: Knowledge
2. Which of the following is NOT a common victims right given by all the states?
a. Right to compensation
b. Notification of rights
*c. Victim case worker
d. Notification of court appearances
Question Type: MC
3. Which of the following is NOT listed as a right to notification?

a. Notification when offender is arrested
b. Notification of court proceedings
c. Notification of parole hearings
*d. Notification of additional charges on offender for other crimes
Question Type: MC
Cognitive Domain: Comprehension
4. Which of the following is related to the right to protection?

*a. May be fearful of offender and/or offender’s friends and family
b. Automated notification systems
c. Ability to submit victim impact statements
d. Right to be treated with dignity and respect
Question Type: MC
5. Some states provide for accelerated dispositions for elderly, disabled and child victims. This is
related to what victims’ right?
a. Right to notification
*b. Right to a speedy trial
c. Right to protection
d. Right to participation and consultation
Question Type: MC
6. This Act called for the Attorney General to develop and implement guidelines for how officials
should respond to victims and witnesses.
a. Child Victims’ Bill of Rights
b. Victims of Crime Act
c. Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act
*d. Federal Victim Witness Protection Act
Question Type: MC
7. This Act created the Office for Victims of Crime.

*b. Victims of Crime Act
d. Federal Victim Witness Protection Act
Question Type: MC
8. This Act required proceedings to be stated in a language understandable to a child.

*a. Child Victims’ Bill of Rights
Question Type: MC
9. This Act included the Violence Against Women Act as well.

*c. Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act
Question Type: MC
10. This Act extended victim compensation to victims of terrorism.

*a. Antiterrorism & Effective Death Penalty Act
b. Justice for All Act
c. Victims’ Rights Clarification Act
Question Type: MC
11. This Act provided funding to process the backlog of rape kits.
a. Antiterrorism & Effective Death Penalty Act
*b. Justice for All Act

c. Victims’ Rights Clarification Act
Question Type: MC
12. This financial remedy is coordinated by the state and does not require a court order to receive it.
a. Civil litigation
b. Restitution
c. Insurance
*d. Victim Compensation
Question Type: MC
13. Approximately one third of victim compensation comes from which source?
*a. Federal funding to the States through VOCA
b. Fees and fines paid by offenders
c. Contributions to the Crime Victims Fund
d. Federal forfeiture funds
Question Type: MC
14. Which of the following crimes is not an eligible crime for which victims can apply for victim
compensation?
a. Rape
b. Homicide
*c. Burglary
d. Drunk driving
Question Type: MC
15. Which of the following items is NOT covered by victim compensation?

a. Mental health counseling
*b. Property damage and loss
c. Funeral costs
d. Medical care costs
Question Type: MC
16. Which of the following is the term for money paid directly from the offender?
a. Civil litigation
*b. Restitution
c. Insurance
d. Victim Compensation
Question Type: MC
17. Which of the following is NOT a barrier to ordering restitution?

a. Many offenders do not have the money to pay it

b. Hard to put a “price” on sentimental items
c. Determining the appropriate amount is difficult
*d. Has to be linked to something tangible
Question Type: MC
18. This is a written or oral presentation of the effects of the crime on the victim.
a. Victim compensation
b. Case history
c. Testimony
*d. Victim impact statements
Question Type: MC
19. What standard of proof is needed for civil litigation cases?

a. Beyond a reasonable doubt
*b. Preponderance of the evidence
c. Reasonable suspicion
d. Circumstantial link
Question Type: MC
20. Restorative Justice was developed in what country?

*a. Canada
b. United States
c. France
d. England
Question Type: MC
True/False Questions
1. As of 2011, all states have enacted some form of victims’ rights legislation.
*a. True
b. False
Question Type: TF
2. The right to be treated with dignity and respect is a right given by ALL states.
a. True
*b. False
Question Type: TF
3. Many states do not provide for remedies if a victim’s rights are violated.
*a. True
b. False
Question Type: TF
4. The Victims of Crime Act of 1984 called for Federal funding for state victim compensation programs.
*a. True
b. False
Question Type: TF
5. An Amendment to the Constitution has been adopted to address victims’ rights.

a. True
*b. False
Question Type: TF
6. Victims of property crimes are eligible for victim compensation.

a. True
*b. False
Question Type: TF
7. Property damage or loss is covered by court-ordered restitution.

*a. True
b. False
Question Type: TF
8. In civil litigation cases victims can ask for costs related to pain and suffering.
*a. True
b. False
Question Type: TF
9. Some victims do not take advantage of the victim impact statement because they fear retaliation.
*a. True
b. False
Question Type: TF
10. There is no evidence to suggest that victims will participate in court proceedings more often if they
are accompanied by an advocate.
a. True
*b. False
Question Type: TF
Short Answer Questions

1. What are the three common goals of the victims’ rights movement?
Privacy, protection, and participation.
Question Type: ESS
2. What is covered under victim compensation?

Medical care costs, mental health treatment, funeral costs, lost wages, and some programs cover crime
scene clean-up, transportation to treatment, housekeeping, child care, forensic sexual assault
exams, eye care, dental care and prosthetics.
Question Type: ESS
Cognitive Domain: Analysis
3. What is a Family Justice Center?

A multiagency collaboration to provide victims with a one-stop shop in which they can receive multiple
services in one spot.
Question Type: ESS
Cognitive Domain: Analysis
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"Then 'tis waste of time to be rude to Him. Civility costs nought
anyway. My old father said to me when I was a child, 'Always touch your
hat to a pair of hosses, William, for you never know who's behind 'em.'"
"I puzzle a good deal upon the subject, and life often flings it
uppermost," answered Bullstone. "In fact so are we built, through education
of conscience, that it's impossible to go very far without being brought up
against God. How often in my secret times of pain do I catch the Name on
my tongue? How often do I say 'My God, my God, what have I done?' I ask
Him that question by night and day. A silly question, too, for I know what
I've done as well as God can. But I know what I've suffered far better than
He can. I went on hoping and hoping, as you bade me, last year. I went
hoping, with one eye on God, like a rat that creeps out of his hole with one
eye on the dog hard by. But the game had to be played out by inches. He
knew that Margery was dying, a few miles away, and He kept it secret from
me and didn't let me hear till it was too late. He planned it, so that I should
just be there after the very last breath was breathed, should touch her before
she was cold, should miss her by seconds. And she longing—longing to
come back to me—to save me. What should we call that if a man had done
it—eh, William?"
"Come and look at my bees, Jacob. A brave swarm yesterday, and poor
Sammy Winter took 'em for me with all the cleverness of a sane man."
"Mysteries everywhere. People pity Samuel. I don't—not now, I did

once, because it's the fashion to think anybody's lacking reason is a sad
sight. Why? Brains are like money—poison so often as not. My brains have
poisoned me—fretted and festered and burnt out my soul like an acid. The
more I see of the wild, innocent creatures, the more I feel that reason's not
all we think it, William. You can't fetter the soul down to reason. What has
reason done for me? The little comfort I get now is outside reason. Reason
only goads me into wanting to end it and make away with myself. That
would be the reasonable thing. What happened yesterday? Auna found a
rhyme book that belonged to my wife. And in that book was a sprig of
white heath I picked for her on a wonderful day we had, just after she had
promised to marry me. There it was faded to brown—more than twenty
years old. And what else did Auna find? Between the pages she found the
crumbs of a little sweet biscuit—a sort of a little biscuit, William, that
Margery loved. Where's the reason when a crumb of wheat can stab the soul
deeper than a sword? And what then? What did Auna say? Nothing in
reason, God knows. 'Father,' she said, 'you and me will eat these crumbs—
then we'll have shared the biscuit with dear mother.' A holy sacrament—
yes, faith—'holy's' not too strong a word. We ate the crumbs, and there was
a strange, mad comfort in it; and the child smiled and it made her happier
too. You could see it in her face. Why? Why? All darkness—no answer.
And the little verse book, with the heather bloom, will be in my breast
pocket now till I die—never out of reach of my hand—warmed daily by my
warmth. Why? Can reason tell me? No—it's only because I'm gone below
reason, William."
"Or it might be above it, my son."
"Such things make your head whirl. If there's to be happiness in heaven,

we mustn't be built like we are here. Fear must be left out of us and the
power of remembering. We must be suffered to forget earth, William; yet,
what would that make of heaven? Nothing. It all tumbles to pieces
whichever way you think of it, for reason, whether it is a good or evil thing,
makes heaven a wilderness."
"Don't you fret your wits with such stuff, for it won't help you to
patience or wisdom."
"No, it won't bring the dead to life, or lift the brand from me. But I
thresh it out by night and see great things heave up in my mind. Then, when
I jump to put them into words, they fade and I lose them. Reason may be
the work of the devil—his master-stroke to turn us from salvation. You can't
be damned without it; but you can be saved without it. Or would you say a
man can't have a soul to be saved, until he is a reasonable creature, built to
separate good from evil and choose the right? No doubt it's well understood
by deep men. My mind turns in and feeds on itself, William, because there's
nothing left outside to feed on."
"You must come back to your appointed task. You must keep doing
good things. You must do more and think less."
"I'm going up to Huntingdon with Auna this afternoon."
"And let her talk to you. Don't think her words are worthless. You've got
a nice bit of your wife left in Auna. Always remember that."
"I do. I shall live on for Auna. There's one beautiful thing left for me—
beautiful, and yet a living wound, that grows painfuller every day I live.
And that's Auna—Auna growing more and more and more like Margery—
bringing her back, even to the toss of her head and the twinkle of her eye.
She laughs like her mother, William; she cries like her mother; she thinks
like her mother. So my only good will be my first grief. The things still left
to care about will torture me more than all the hate of the world can torture
me. They'll keep memory awake—stinging, burning, till I scream to Auna
to get out of my sight presently, and leave me with the foxes and the carrion
crows."
Then Bullstone limped away. He soon grew calmer, as he was wont to

do when alone with nobody to whet his thoughts upon.
During the later part of this day he ascended the moors with Auna and
walked to the empty Warren House. They talked of those who had dwelt
there, for that morning a letter had come from Mrs. Veale for Margery,
giving her news of the Veale family—Benny and the children.
"You must answer it, Auna, and tell the woman that your mother passed
away last winter," said Jacob. "If I was a younger man, I might go out to
Canada myself and take you with me; but we'll stop here. You'll like
Huntingdon, won't you?"
"Yes, father."
"Your mother's dead," he told her; "but we shan't be without a lot of

treasures to remind us of her."
"All the things she specially cared about you'll have round you, father."
"I know them all," he answered, "because, so long as I felt hope that she
might come back, I was specially careful for them and set them aside out of
harm's way. She had a great liking for little things that she coupled with the
thoughts of friends."
He spoke the truth, for many trifles that had sustained some faint
fragrance of hope while Margery lived—trifles that her heart had valued
and her hands had held—were now subject to a different reverence, set
apart and sanctified for ever.
"We might take a few of her favourite flowers too," suggested Auna,
"but I doubt they would live up there in winter. You can always come down
and see them at the right time, father."
"Everything shall be just as you will, Auna. You'll be mistress and I'll be
man."
She laughed and they tramped forward. Jacob could now walk all day
without suffering for it, but he was lame and his pace slower than of old.
He brought the key with him and opened the silent house. A week rarely
passed without a visit, and Jacob always awoke to animation and interest
when he came. The melancholy spot and mean chambers, though they had
chilled not a few human hearts in the past, always cheered him. To a
dwelling whence others had thankfully departed for the last time, he now
looked forward with satisfaction; and Auna, seeing that only here came any
peace to her father, welcomed Huntingdon already as her future home. Not
a shadow clouded her eyes as she regarded it, and not one regret before the
receding vision of Red House and her own life therein. For her father was
her world, as he had always been, and when he turned against his home, she
echoed him and loved Red House no more. She knew that for Jacob the
death of her mother had destroyed Red House; she understood that he
desired to begin again and she felt well content to begin again with him. His
influence had come between her and normal development in certain
directions. She was old for her age, but also young. No instinct of sex had
intruded upon her life, and little interest in any being outside her own home
circle. Even within it her sister and brothers were nothing compared to her
father, and impulses, fears, suspicions that might have chilled a girl's
forward glance under the walls of forlorn Huntingdon, never rose in Auna's
mind to darken the future. Her father willed there to dwell and her welfare
and happiness as yet took no flight beyond him.
They wandered through the stone-paved kitchen and climbed to the

little chambers above, while for the twentieth time, Jacob planned how
things should be.
"I'll have this room," he said, "because the sun sets upon it; and you will
bide here, Auna, because it's fitting the sun shall rise where you wake."
She was happy when he spoke thus tenderly sometimes.
"My sun set, when mother died," continued Jacob. "What's left is
twilight; but you'll be the evening star, Auna, as it says in mother's little
book. You can read it if you want to. I'll let it touch no other hand but yours.
I've read every word many times, because I know her eyes rested on every
word once."
"I'm afraid I don't understand about poetry, father."
"You'll come to understand it when you're older, perhaps. She

understood it and got pleasure from it."
The desolation of the warren house soothed Jacob, and having wandered
through it he sat for a time outside the enclosures before starting to return
home. He rolled his melancholy eyes over the great spaces to a free horizon
of the hills folding in upon each other.
"Will time speed swifter here, Auna?"
"I hope it will, father," she answered, "but the days will be very like
each other."
"Days too like each other drag," he told her. "We must change the
pattern of the days. It shan't be all work for you. We'll do no work
sometimes, and now and then you'll go for a holiday down to the 'in
country,' and I shall be alone till you come back."
"I'm never going to leave you alone," she said. "If you think upon a
holiday for me, you've got to come too, or have Peter up here for a bit."
"There's only one other thing beside the moor that's good to me; and
that's the sea; and you well love to be on the sea, so we might go to it now
and again."
Auna's eyes sparkled.
"I'd like that dearly," she told him.
"To know the sea better may be a wise deed for me," he said. "Some it
hurts and cannot comfort—so I've heard. Not that it could ever be a friend
to me, like the hills."
"You'd love it better and better, specially if you'd sail out on to it, same
as I did with Uncle Lawrence."
Her father nodded and this allusion did not banish his placid mood. The
sun rays were growing slant and rich as they set out for home. Auna
laughed at their shadows flung hugely before them. Then they descended
and she walked silently for a long way with her hand in her father's hand.
But she was content despite their silence, for she knew that his mind had
passed into a little peace. She often wondered why the desert solitudes
cheered him, for they cast her down. She liked to leave it behind her—that
great, lonely thing—and descend into the kindly arms of the Red House
trees and the welcome of the river. For the river itself, in Auna's ear, sang a
different song beside her home, than aloft, in its white nakedness, and
loneliness. There it was elfin and cold and silvery, but it did not seem to
sing for her; while beneath, at the feet of the pines, under the bridge of logs,
in the pools and stickles she knew to the last mossy boulder—there her
name river had music for her alone and she understood it. It was a dear
friend who would never pass away out of her life, or die and leave her to
mourn. A time was coming when she would know it better still, see it aloft
nigh its cradle, learn its other voices, that yet were strange to her. In the
valley the river was old and wise; perhaps aloft, where it ran nigh
Huntingdon, it was not so wise or tender, but younger and more joyous.
"It'll have to be my friend," thought Auna, "for there won't be no others
up there but father."
An incident clouded the return journey, and though neither Jacob nor his
daughter was sentimental, death confronted them and made them sorry. An
old goat, one of the parents of the Red House flock, had disappeared during
the previous winter, and they had fancied that he must have fallen into the
stream and been swept away in a freshet that happened when he vanished.
But now, in a little green hollow rimmed with heath and granite, they found
all that was left of the creature—wisps of iron-grey hair, horns attached to
his skull, a few scattered bones picked clean by the carrion crows and the
hollow skeleton of his ribs with young grasses sprouting through it.
"Oh, father—it's 'Beardy,'" whispered Auna.
"So it is then. And I'm glad we found him. A very dignified thing, the
way the creatures, when they know they're going to die, leave their friends
and go away all alone. A fine thing in them; and there's many humans
would do the same if they had the strength I dare say."
Auna descended among the bones and picked up "Beardy's" horns.
"Peter will like to have them for a decoration," she said. "I hope he
didn't suffer much, poor old dear."
"Not much, I expect."
"And I hope the carrion crows didn't dare to touch him till he was gone,
father."
"No, no. There's unwritten laws among the wild things. I expect they
waited."
"Did his wives miss him, should you think?"
"We don't know. They can't tell us. Perhaps they wondered a bit. More
likely they knew he'd gone up to die and wouldn't come back. They know
deeper than we think they know among themselves, Auna."
"I've often been sorry for that poor Scape-goat in the Bible, father. I
read about him to grandmother long ago, one Sunday, and never forgot
him."
"And so have I been sorry for him, too."
They tramped on together and presently Jacob spoke. He was thinking

still of her last speech and his mind had turned dark.
"The Scape-goat in the wilderness was a happy beast compared to me,"

he said suddenly. "He went to his doom a clean thing—a harmless creature,
pure as Christ's self under his filthy load of human sins. For a foul burden
doesn't make the carrier foul. He'd done no wrong and wondered, perhaps,
in his brute mind, why the scarlet thread was tied upon him and he was
driven into the unkind desert, far from his bite of green grass and the
shadow to guard him against the burning sun. But I'm different. I'm a goat
caked and rotted with my own sins. The sins of the world are white and
light against mine."
"I won't hear you say things like that, father. I won't live with you if you
say things like that."
"Bear with me, bear with me. It comes in great waves, and I'm a
drowning man till they roll over and pass. You'll sweeten me presently. Who
could live with you and not grow sweeter, you innocent?"
He broke off.
Venus throbbed upon the golden green of the west, and as they
descended, the valley was already draped with a thin veil of mist under
which the river purred. From the kennels came yapping of the dogs; and
when they reached home and entered the yard, half a dozen red terriers
leapt round Auna and nosed with excitement at "Beardy's" horns.
CHAPTER V
THE AUTUMN WIND
On a rough day of autumn, when the river ran high and leaves already
flew upon half a gale of wind, a little crowd of men gathered up the valley
beyond Red House, and with crow-bars and picks sought to lift up the block
of granite whereon aforetime Margery Bullstone so often sat. Jacob had
long ago dug down to the foundation, that he might satisfy himself to its
size; and it had proved too great beneath the soil, where twice the bulk of
the visible part was bedded. Now, therefore, having heaved it from the
ground, they were busy to drive four holes in it, where the cleft must take
place. Then they inserted four cartridges, set the slow match, lighted it and
retreated beside a cart that already stood out of harm's reach.
There had come Peter and Auna, Adam and Samuel Winter and Jacob
Bullstone; and Adam had lent his pig-cart to convey the stone to the
churchyard.
They watched silently; then came a flash, a puff of white smoke,

whirled instantly away on the wind, and a dull explosion that reverberated
from the hill above. The great stone was sundered and they returned to it,
bringing the horse and cart with them.
The block had split true and a mass accordant with its memorial purpose
was presently started upon the way. Jacob directed great care, and helped to
lift the stone, that none of the native moss in its scooped crown should be
injured.
"Whether it will live down in the churchyard air I don't know," he said,
"but the grave lies in shade most times and we can water it."
Samuel was regarding the boulder with a puzzled face.
"Where be her name going?" he asked.

"The name goes on the side, Sammy," explained Jacob. "Blake, the
stone-cutter, was up over a bit ago and took my meaning."
They went slowly away under the rioting wind, and near Red House
Peter and his sister left them, while at Shipley Bridge Samuel also returned
home.
Jacob walked beside Adam at the horse's head. It was a bad day with
him and the passion of the weather had found an echo in his spirit. The rain
began to fall and Winter drew a sack from the cart and swung it over his
shoulders.
"You'd best to run into Billy Marydrew's till the scat's passed, else you'll
get wet," he said.
But the other heeded not the rain.
"A pity it isn't my coffin instead of her stone you've got here," he said.
"I'm very wishful to creep beside her. No harm in that—eh?"
"There's every harm in wishing to be dead afore your time, Jacob; but
none I reckon in sharing her grave when the day's work is ended."
"Truth's truth and time can't hide truth, whatever else it hides. I killed
her, Adam, I killed her as stone-dead as if I'd taken down my gun and shot
her."
"No, no, Bullstone, you mustn't say anything like that. You well know
it's wrong. In one way we all help to kill our fellow-creatures I reckon; and
they help to kill us. 'Tis a mystery of nature. We wear away at each other,
like the stone on the sea-shore; we be thrown to grind and drive at each
other, not for evil intent, but because we can't help it. We don't know what
we're doing, or who we're hurting half our time—no more than frightened
sheep jumping on each other's backs, for fear of the dog behind them."
"That's all wind in the trees to me. I wasn't blind: I knew what I was
doing. I don't forget how I hurt you neither, and took good years off your
life."
"Leave it—leave it and work. Think twice before you give up work and
go to Huntingdon."
"My work's done, and badly done. Don't you tell me not to get away to
peace if I'm to live."
"Peace, for the likes of us, without learning, only offers through work."
They had reached Marydrew's and Adam made the other go in.
"I'll stop under the lew of the hedge till this storm's over," he said. "Tell
Billy I'd like to see him to-night if he can drop in. The wind's turning a
thought north and will go down with the sun no doubt."
He went forward, where a deep bank broke the weather, and Jacob
entered William's cottage. Mr. Marydrew had seen them from the window
and now came to the door.
"A proper tantara 'tis blowing to-day," he said. "My loose slates be
chattering, like a woman's tongue, and I'm feared of my life they'll be
blowed off. The stone's started then? That's good."
Jacob, according to his habit, pursued his own thoughts and spoke on, as
though Adam still stood beside him.
"To talk of peace—to say there's any peace for a red-handed man. Peace
is the reward of work and good living and faithful service. Red hands can't
earn peace."
"Now don't you begin that noise. Let the wind blow if it must. No call
for you to blow. Take my tarpaulin coat for the journey. A thought small,
but it will keep your niddick dry."
"Give me a dram," said Jacob, "and listen to me."
Mr. Marydrew brought his spirit from a cupboard while the other
rambled on.
"We've just hacked the stone for her grave out of the earth. Torn up by
the roots, like she was herself. She dies and her children lose a father as
well as a mother, because they know the stroke was mine; and what honest
child shall love a father that killed a mother? That's not all. Think of that
man now helping me to get the stone to her grave. Think of the suffering
poured on Winter's head. A very good, steadfast sort of man—and yet my
hand robbed him of much he can never have again. Three out of four
children lost, and that saint underground. And all allowed by the good-will
of a watchful God."
He nodded, emptied the glass his friend offered him and looked out at
the rain.
"You're dark to-day and don't see very clear, my dear," said Billy. "You
put this from your own point of view, and so 'tis very ugly I grant; but every
thing that haps has two sides. You've bitched up your show here, Jacob, and
I'm not going to pretend you have not. You've done and you've suffered a
lot, along of your bad judgment; and you was kindiddled into this affair by
the powers of darkness. But 'tis the way of God to use men as signposts for
their fellow-men. He sees the end of the road from the beginning, and He
knows that the next scene of your life, when you meet Margery, will belike
be full of joy and gladness."
"It's your heart, not your head, that speaks that trash, William,"
answered the younger. "Can future joy and gladness undo the past? Can the
sunshine bring to life what the lightning killed an hour afore? How shall
understanding in Heaven blot out the happenings on earth? Things—awful
things—that God's self can't undo? And answer me this: if some live happy
in this world and go happy to the next, as well we know some do; then why
should not all? If some are born to live with their minds clear, their tempers
pure, their passions under control, why should such as I am blot the earth?
Would a man make maimed things? Would a decent man bring living
creatures to the birth short of legs or eyes, when he could fashion them
perfect? Where's the boasted mercy of your God, William? Where's His
eternal plan, and what's the sense of talking about a happy eternity if a man
comes to it poisoned by time? I'm calm, you see—a reasoning creature and
honest with myself. My everlasting inheritance would be nothing but one
undying shame and torture at the ruin I have made; and I know that I cannot
stand up in the next world among those I have spoiled and wronged and feel
a right to do so. And if my Creator has built me to gnaw my heart out in
agony through a life without end—what is He? No, the only poor mercy left
for me is eternal night—endless sleep is what I'd pray for if I could pray;
because another life must be hell wherever it is spent. Let Him that made us
unmake us. 'Tis the least and best that He can do for nine men out of ten."
The storm had swept past and a weather gleam flashed upon the rain.
The red beech trees before William's home shone fiery through the falling
drops and shook off little, flying flakes of flame, as the leaves whirled in the
wind.
Mr. Marydrew did not answer, but followed Jacob to the wicket gate
and watched him as he rejoined Winter. William waited until the cart had
disappeared and was turning to go in, when a neighbour came up the
shining road from Shipley.
It was Amelia Winter in her pattens.
"Did Adam tell you he's wishful to see you to-night?" she asked and
Billy answered that he had not.
"Well he is," she said, and put down the big umbrella under which she
had come. "He's lending a hand with a heathen lump of stone just now. That
forgotten man up the valley be going to put it on poor Margery Bullstone's
grave; and for my part I'm a good deal surprised that parson will suffer such
a thing in a Christian burial ground."
"They've just gone round the corner—Adam and him and the cart. He
was in here storming against his fate a minute agone."
"Not Adam? He don't storm against nothing."
"No—t'other. My old friend. He ain't through the wood by a long way

yet, Amelia. His thoughts and griefs crowd down on him like a flock of foul
birds, and shake the roots of his life something shocking."
"'Tis well if the Lord's Hand is heavy," she answered.
"So it should be, if there's justice in the world."
"Try to think kindly on the man. He's suffered much."
"I live with Adam Winter," she answered and went her way.
CHAPTER VI
THE CHILDREN
Accident sometimes invoked a strange spectre of the old jealousy in

Jacob Bullstone—that quiddity of his nature responsible for his ruin. It
flashed now—a feeble glimmer of the ancient emotion—and involved
Auna. She alone in his opinion cared any longer for him, or felt interest in
his fortunes; therefore he was quick to resent any real, or fancied, attempts
on the part of others to weaken the bonds between them. Such a task had in
truth been impossible, yet there came hints to his ear that the girl should not
be dragged with him into the fastness of the moor. He had to some extent
lost sight of her natural demands and requirements. He little liked her to be
overmuch interested in affairs that no longer concerned himself; but she
was intelligent in this matter and, helped by advice, kept in closer touch
with her relations than Jacob knew. With her grandmother Auna had indeed
broken, for Judith declined to see her any more, and the younger did not
pretend sorrow; but with Barlow Huxam, and with her Uncle Jeremy and
Aunt Jane, she preserved a friendship they did not report to Mrs. Huxam;
while despite harsh sayings against them from her father, Auna continued to
love John Henry and Avis. She was loyal, would not hear a word against
Jacob, and set him always first. She regarded the coming life at Huntingdon
as no ordeal, but a change of infinite promise, because it might bring him
nearer peace. Meantime, behind Bullstone's back others were busy in hope
to change his plans, and these alternatives were placed before him by his
children.
The occasion found him fretful after a period of comparative

contentment. He was unaware that time cannot stand still, and in the usual
parental fashion continued to regard his family as anchored to childhood.
He was smarting under grievances on a day that he met Adam Winter and
walked with him from Brent to Shipley.
"There's nothing so cold as the chill of your own flesh," he said. "A
child's a fearful thing, Adam, if it turns against a parent, especially when
you've kept your share of the bargain, as I have."
"No doubt there is a bargain," admitted Winter. "I speak as a childless

man and my word's of no account; but you've been quick to see what you
owed your own, and I hope they do the like. If they don't, so far, that's only
to say they're young yet. They will get more thoughtful with years."
"Yes, thoughtful for themselves. Young and green they are, yet not too
young to do man and woman's work, not too young to know the value of
money. Something's left out of them, and that is the natural feeling there
should be for their father. Hard, hard and ownself they are."
"Your eldest is born to command, and that sort play for their own hand
by reason of the force that's in 'em. Time will mellow John Henry's heart,
and experience of men will show him the manner of man his father is."
Jacob grew calmer.
"He loved his mother more than he loved anything, and it may be out of
reason to ask them, who loved her, to spare much regard for me. That I
grant and have always granted. Yet I've striven to show him now, with all
my awful faults, I'm a good father."
"He can't fail to know it."
"John Henry comes of age in a minute and I've made over Bullstone
Farm to him. A great position for one so young—eh, Winter?"
"A wondrous fine thing, and what makes it finer is that he's a born
farmer and will be worthy of it."
"Kingwell's lease is up ere long, and then my son will reign and be the
head of the family in the eye of the nation."
"You mustn't say that. You're the head of the family, not your son."
"He had scarce a word to answer when I told him how I'd been to
Lawyer Dawes and turned it over. As for Dawes himself, he feels a thought
doubtful whether I should part with my own so freely; but 'no,' I said, 'I
understand what I'm doing.' A bit of bread and a cup of water is all I shall
ever ask from my children. Let them do what I've failed to do and carry on
the name in a proper way. I want to be forgot, Adam; and yet, because
they're quite agreeable to take all and let me be forgot, I smart. Such is
man."
"Nature and order can't be swept away," answered Winter. "Your

children are very orderly children, and no doubt they'll do as you wish; but
you mustn't think to go out of their lives and deny them your wisdom and
advice. You've got your bargain to keep still, while you're in the land of the
living. You mustn't wash your hands of 'em. You must show 'em that you're
part of 'em yet, and that their good is yours and your good is theirs."
"They care not for my good—why should they? They don't want my
wisdom, for well they know my wisdom is foolishness. Who'd seek me
now? Who'd listen to me now, but a few such as you and William, who
have the patience of those who grow old and can still forgive all and laugh
kindly? No: they are children, and wisdom they need and experience they
lack—the more so because the world has run smooth for them. But they
don't look to me and they never did. All but Auna were set against me from
their short coats. They began to doubt as soon as they could walk. Their
grandmother was their god, and they'll live to find she was a false god.
They didn't get their hard hearts from Margery, or me."
"Trust to that then," urged the other. "Be patient and wait and watch,
and you'll see yourself in them yet, and your wife also."
"You have a great trust in your fellow-creatures, Adam Winter."
"You must trust 'em if you're going to get any peace. What's life worth if
you can't trust? 'Tis to people the world with enemies and make yourself a
hunted creature."
"'Hunted' is a very good word," answered Jacob, "that's the state of most
of us. As to my children," he continued, "Peter will carry on here with
Middleweek, and he's very well able to do it—better already at a bargain
than ever I was, and likely to be more popular with customers than I. But
my sons have got to make me payments. That's fair—eh?"
"Certainly it is."
"And Auna must be thought upon also. She's first in my mind, and
always will be, and she needn't fear, when I go, that she'll be forgot. I've
managed pretty cleverly for her, well knowing that she'd not think of such
things when she grows up."
"Don't you force her to grow up too quick, however," urged Adam.
"Such a far-seeing man as you must not come between her and her own
generation, and keep her too close pent if you really go to the moor. Youth
cleaves to youth, Jacob; youth be the natural food of youth."
"You're wrong there," answered the elder. "Youth's hard, narrow,

ignorant and without heart. I want to get her away for her own sake. She's a
flower too fair to live with weeds. She's her mother again. The rest are dross
to her—workaday, coarse stuff, wishing me dead as often as they trouble to
think on me at all."
Adam argued against this opinion and indeed blamed Bullstone heartily.
"Don't you be poisoned against your own," he said. "The hardness of

youth isn't all bad. It often wears out and brings tenderness and
understanding with experience. I'd never fear a hard youngster: it's the
hardness of middle age that I'd fear."
And no distant day proved Adam to have spoken well. A certain thing
fell out and Jacob remembered the other's opinion, for it seemed that
Winter's prophecy came true quicklier than even he himself might have
expected it to do so. On a certain Sunday in February their father received a
visit from John Henry and Avis. The latter did not bring her husband, since
the object of their visit proved purely personal to the family.
John Henry drove his sister in a little market cart from Bullstone Farm
and they surprised their father walking by the river. Auna accompanied him
and they were exercising some puppies. He had just pointed out to the flat
rock by the river where Margery was wont to sit, when she took vanished
generations of puppies for their rambles; then Auna cried out and the cart
stopped beside them.
John Henry alighted to shake hands with his father and Avis descended
and kissed him. He was astonished and asked the meaning of their visit.
"You'll catch it from Mrs. Huxam, playing about on Sunday," he said.
"We're not playing about," answered John Henry, "we've come on a very
important, family matter—our affair and not grandmother's at all. And we
thought we might stop for dinner and tea."
"Come and welcome; but I've done all I'm going to do, John Henry—all
for you and all for Avis. You're not going to squeeze me any more."
"We haven't come to squeeze you, father—quite the contrary," declared

Avis.
"Leave it till after dinner," directed the young man. "I heard you were
fixed beyond power of changing on Huntingdon; but I do hope that's not so,
father; because I think there's a good few reasons against."
"What you think is no great odds," answered Bullstone. "And why

should you think at all about it?"
"I'll tell you after dinner."

He changed the subject and began talking of his farm. Already he had
new ideas.
"I don't see no use in that copse up the valley," he said. "'Tis good
ground wasted—only a place for badgers to breed, and we don't want them
killing the poultry. But if it was cleared to the dry-built wall—cleared
slowly and gradual in winter—it would give a bit of work and some useful
wood, and then offer three good acres for potatoes and rotation after. It's
well drained by nature and worth fifty pounds a year presently if not more."
"It's yours, John Henry. You'll do as you think best."
Jacob was in an abstracted mood and the sight of all his children met
together gave him pain rather than pleasure. They accentuated the empty
place and their spirits jarred upon him, for they were cheerful and noisy. He
thought that Auna was the brighter for their coming and resented it in a dim,
subconscious fashion.
They found him silent and absorbed. He seemed to withdraw himself

and pursue his own thoughts under their chatter. They addressed him and
strove to draw him into their interests, but for a time they failed to do so.
Once or twice Avis and Auna whispered together and Auna was clearly
excited; but Avis quieted her.
"I'll tell him myself come presently," she said.
When dinner was done, John Henry spoke.
"Light your pipe and listen, father. You must wake up and listen. I've
got a very big idea and I'm very wishful you'll think of it, and so is Avis."
He looked at them dreamily.
"What big idea could you have that I come into?" he asked.
"Why, you yourself and your future."
"Who's put you up to thinking about me at all? You weren't used to."
"God's my judge nobody put me up to it; did they, Avis?"
"Nobody," answered Avis. "It was your own thought, and you asked me,
and I said it was a very fine thought."
"Nothing about Auna?"
"No, father. It's just this. I know you don't want to stop here. That's
natural. But there's other places beside the moor. And I'm very wishful
indeed for you to come and live with me at Bullstone—you and Auna. Then
you'd be near Peter, and Avis too; and she could come and go and look after
you."
Jacob took it ill. He believed that selfish motives had prompted John
Henry, nor did he even give him credit for mixed motives. Then, as he
remained silent, another aspect of the proposal troubled him. This woke
actual anger.
"To 'look after me'? To 'look after me'? God's light! what do you take
me for? D'you think my wits are gone and my children must look after me?
Perhaps you'd like to shut me up altogether, now you've got your farms?"
They did not speak and he took their silence for guilt, whereas it only
meant their astonishment.
"Where the hell did you scheming devils come from?" he shouted.
"Where's your mother in you? Are you all your blasted grandmother?"
Avis flushed and John Henry's face also grew hot. Auna put her arms
round her father's neck.
"Don't, don't say such awful things," she begged him; "you know better,
dear father."
Then John Henry spoke without temper.
"You wrong us badly when you say that, father. We meant no such thing
and was only thinking of you and Auna. You must have stuff to fill your
mind. You're not a very old man yet, and you're strong and active. And I

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Daigle, Victimology: A Text/Reader Instructor Resource

Victimology 1st Edition Daigle Test Bank

Section 6: Victims’ Rights and Remedies

3. Which of the following is NOT listed as a right to notification?

4. Which of the following is related to the right to protection?

7. This Act created the Office for Victims of Crime.

8. This Act required proceedings to be stated in a language understandable to a child.

9. This Act included the Violence Against Women Act as well.

10. This Act extended victim compensation to victims of terrorism.

*b. Justice for All Act

15. Which of the following items is NOT covered by victim compensation?

17. Which of the following is NOT a barrier to ordering restitution?

a. Many offenders do not have the money to pay it

19. What standard of proof is needed for civil litigation cases?

20. Restorative Justice was developed in what country?

5. An Amendment to the Constitution has been adopted to address victims’ rights.

6. Victims of property crimes are eligible for victim compensation.

7. Property damage or loss is covered by court-ordered restitution.

Short Answer Questions

2. What is covered under victim compensation?

3. What is a Family Justice Center?

"Mysteries everywhere. People pity Samuel. I don't—not now, I did

"Or it might be above it, my son."

"Such things make your head whirl. If there's to be happiness in heaven,

Then Bullstone limped away. He soon grew calmer, as he was wont to

"Your mother's dead," he told her; "but we shan't be without a lot of

They wandered through the stone-paved kitchen and climbed to the

She was happy when he spoke thus tenderly sometimes.

"I'm afraid I don't understand about poetry, father."

"You'll come to understand it when you're older, perhaps. She

"Will time speed swifter here, Auna?"

Auna's eyes sparkled.

"I'd like that dearly," she told him.

"Oh, father—it's 'Beardy,'" whispered Auna.

Auna descended among the bones and picked up "Beardy's" horns.

"Not much, I expect."

"Did his wives miss him, should you think?"

"And so have I been sorry for him, too."

They tramped on together and presently Jacob spoke. He was thinking

"The Scape-goat in the wilderness was a happy beast compared to me,"

THE AUTUMN WIND

They watched silently; then came a flash, a puff of white smoke,

Samuel was regarding the boulder with a puzzled face.

"Where be her name going?" he asked.

But the other heeded not the rain.

"Give me a dram," said Jacob, "and listen to me."

It was Amelia Winter in her pattens.

"Not Adam? He don't storm against nothing."

"No—t'other. My old friend. He ain't through the wood by a long way

"So it should be, if there's justice in the world."

"Try to think kindly on the man. He's suffered much."

Accident sometimes invoked a strange spectre of the old jealousy in

The occasion found him fretful after a period of comparative

"No doubt there is a bargain," admitted Winter. "I speak as a childless

Jacob grew calmer.

"He can't fail to know it."

"Nature and order can't be swept away," answered Winter. "Your

"You're wrong there," answered the elder. "Youth's hard, narrow,