g irresolutely to the hose. He
was a big man and strong, but the terrifying sight of the minister
bearing down upon him with murder in his eyes clearly unnerved him.
Releasing his hold of the hose he incontinently bolted. For a moment
the force of the water caused the hose to rear its head like a snake
preparing to strike, then after a moment's hesitation it gracefully
descended, and discharged its stream full in the chest of Dr. Little,
who sat down upon the grass with a sob of surprise.

McFie's yell had attracted to him an ever-enlarging crowd.

"Turned the hose on me," he explained thickly. "Me, Andrew McFie of
Auchinlech." Suddenly catching sight of the retreating form of Lady
Knob-Kerrick, he yelled, "It's all her doin', the old sinner."

With a whoop he sprang after Lady Knob-Kerrick, who at that moment was
disappearing round the canvas screen seeking her carriage. The crowd
followed, and some bethought themselves of the hose.

Lady Knob-Kerrick was just in the act of getting into her carriage when
the jet of water from the hose took her in the small of the back and
literally washed her into her seat as, a moment later, it washed her
coachman off his. The horses reared and plunged; but McFie and Bindle
rushed to their heads. Several men busied themselves with undoing the
traces, the frightened animals were freed from the pole, and a cut from
the whip, aided by the noise of the crowd, was sufficient to send them
clattering down the road.

Hitherto Bindle had been by tacit consent the leading spirit; but now
the Rev. Andrew McFie assumed the mantle of authority. Ordering the
coachman and footman to take their mistress home, he caused the
carriage to be drawn into the meadow and placed across the gateway,
thus forming a barricade. This done, he mounted upon the box and
harangued the throng.

Cokernuts and the balls used at the shies, together with the Aunt Sally
sticks, were collected and piled up near the gate, and every
preparation made to hold the meadow against all comers. McFie
succeeded in working his hearers into a state of religious frenzy.
They danced and sang like mad creatures, ate and drank all that was
left of the provisions and lemonade, made bonfires of the stalls and
tables; in short, turned Lady Knob-Kerrick's meadow into a very
reasonable representation of an inferno.

"There's a-goin' to be trouble over this 'ere little arternoon's
doin's," murmured Bindle to himself, as he slipp