aving like a little
barbarian, not like a little girl who has been taught Greek manners.
Katharina is no longer a child, though she is still often kind enough to
play with you. Go to her at once and beg her pardon for being so rude."

"I!" exclaimed Mary, and her tone conveyed the most positive refusal to
obey this behest. She sprang to her feet, and with flashing eyes, she
cried: "We are not Greeks, neither she nor I, and I can tell you once for
all that she is not my kind and welcome visitor, nor my friend any more!
We have nothing, nothing whatever to do with each other any more!"

"Are you gone mad?" cried Eudoxia, and her long face assumed a
threatening expression, while she rose from her easy-chair in spite of
the increasing heat, intending to capture her pupil and compel her to
apologize; but Mary was more nimble than the middle-aged damsel and fled
down the alley towards the river, as nimble as a gazelle.

Eudoxia began to run after her; but the heat was soon too much for her,
and when she stopped, exhausted and panting, she perceived that
Katharina, worthy once more of her name of "water-wagtail," had flown
past her and was chasing the little girl at a pace that she shuddered to
contemplate. Mary soon saw that no one but Katharina was in pursuit; she
moderated her pace, and awaited her cast-off friend under the shade of a
tall shrub. In a moment Katharina was facing her; with a heightened color
she seized both her hands and exclaimed passionately:

"What was it you said? You--you--If I did not know what a wrong-headed
little simpleton you were, I could . . . ."

"You could accuse me falsely!--But now, leave go of my hands or I will
bite you. And as Katharina, at this threat, released her she went on
vehemently.

"Oh! I know you now--since yesterday! And I tell you, once for all, I say
thank you for nothing for such friends. You ought to sink into the earth
for shame of the sin you have committed. I am only ten years old, but
rather than have done such a thing I would have let myself be shut up in
that hot hole with poor, innocent Perpetua, or I would have let myself be
killed, as you want poor, honest Hiram to be! Oh, shame!"

Katharina's crimson cheeks bad turned pale at this address and, as she
had no answer ready, she could only toss her head and say, with as much
pride and dignity as she could assume:

"What can a child like you know about things that puzzle the heads of
grown-up people?"

"Grown-