Farnshaw watched to
see that a propitious moment should not arrive when he was in one of his
sulking fits. Elizabeth had played that game with him before. With her
courage oozing away, and a feeling that there was no benefit in seeming
not to know what he was thinking about, she put her hand on his sleeve
saying:

"Don't be cross with me, pa. Really I _do_ want to be friends."

Mr. Farnshaw jerked his arm aside to avoid her touch and spilled half the
pail of swill on the ground. He lurched over to the other side to right
the pail; the bucket at his feet upset, pouring dishwater, milk, and
potato peelings over his heavy plow-shoes as it went. To avoid the onrush
of the greasy tide he sprang back, slipped in its oily overflow, and fell,
the pail he held pouring its contents over him as he went. His gray
whiskers, the bottom of his jersey, his very ears dripped swill as he
arose. It was disconcertingly funny, and the girl helped him to his feet,
laughing in spite of every effort to restrain herself.

To lose his temper was bad enough, but to be made ridiculous and be
laughed at at the same time was more than the man could endure. He was
insane with fury. There was such a look of malignity on his face as he
jerked away and turned to face her that the girl, suddenly sobered, dodged
and started to run. Her long hair trailed across his arm, and lost to
every consideration but that of satisfying his temper, he caught it as she
passed and swinging the osage stick to which he still clung, shouted:

"Damn you! This is th' kind of friends I'll be."

He struck with all his force, jerking her hair at the same time. Thrown
from her feet, the full weight of the girl's body came on her hair. It
hurt cruelly. She veered around on her knees and caught the now tangled
hair with both hands to ease the strain. He grabbed her by one arm and
rained blows on her thinly clad shoulders which hissed in tune with the
man's temper as they fell.

"I'll be friends with you!" he shrieked. "I'll send you t' that young
smartie with some marks on you that'll show 'im what kind of a wife he's
gettin'. You told your ma t' leave me! Maybe You'll be leavin' him next.
Tell 'im I said so, will you?"

Cut by the flexible withe, which left welts like ribbons on her young
shoulders, the girl was unable to endure more passively, and struggled to
free herself. The partially successful opposition infuriated the man. He
was not accustomed to defence. His fury