d disdainfully.

'And what make ye alone here? and how was I to know't, an' Milly not wi'
ye, nor no one? But Maud or no Maud, I wouldn't let the Dooke hisself set
foot inside the palin' without Silas said let him. And you may tell Silas
them's the words o' Dickon Hawkes, and I'll stick to'm--and what's more
I'll tell him _myself_--I will; I'll tell him there be no use o' my
striving and straining hee, day an' night and night and day, watchin' again
poachers, and thieves, and gipsies, and they robbing lads, if rules won't
be kep, and folk do jist as they pleases. Dang it, lass, thou'rt in luck I
didn't heave a brick at thee when I saw thee first.'

'I'll complain of you to my uncle,' I replied.

'So do, and and 'appen thou'lt find thyself in the wrong box, lass; thou
canst na' say I set the dogs arter thee, nor cau'd thee so much as a wry
name, nor heave a stone at thee--did I? Well? and where's the complaint
then?'

I simply answered, rather fiercely,

'Be good enough to leave me.'

'Well, I make no objections, mind. I'm takin' thy word--thou'rt Maud
Ruthyn--'appen thou be'st and 'appen thou baint. I'm not aweer on't, but I
takes thy word, and all I want to know's just this, did Meg open the gate
to thee?'

I made him no answer, and to my great relief I saw Milly striding and
skipping across the unequal stepping-stones.

'Hallo, Pegtop! what are you after now?' she cried, as she drew near.

'This man has been extremely impertinent. You know him, Milly?' I said.

'Why that's Pegtop Dickon. Dirty old Hawkes that never was washed. I tell
you, lad, ye'll see what the Governor thinks o't--a-ha! He'll talk to you.'

'I done or said nout--not but I _should_, and there's the fack--she can't
deny't; she hadn't a hard word from I; and I don't care the top o' that
thistle what no one says--not I. But I tell thee, Milly, I stopped _some_
o' thy pranks, and I'll stop more. Ye'll be shying no more stones at the
cattle.'

'Tell your tales, and welcome, cried Milly. 'I wish I was here when you
jawed cousin. If Winny was here she'd catch you by the timber toe and put
you on your back.'

'Ay, she'll be a good un yet if she takes arter thee,' retorted the old man
with a fierce sneer.

'Drop it, and get away wi' ye,' cried she, 'or maybe I'd call Winny to
smash your timber leg for you.'

'A-ha! there's more on't. She's a sweet un. Isn't she?' he replied
sardonically.

'You did not like it last Easter, when Winny broke