his flank. In another moment
there would have been mischief; but the Whip, as he stood wiping his
mouth, saw the danger and ran in. He struck the visgy out of the
child's grasp, set his foot on it, and with an open-handed cuff sent
him floundering into a sand-heap.

"Nice boy, that!" said somebody, and the whole company laughed as
they walked their horses slowly out of the hollow.

They passed before Taffy in a blur of tears; and the last rider to go
was the small girl Honoria on her tall sorrel. She moved up the
broad shelving path, but reined up just within sight, turned her
horse, and came slowly back to him.

"If I were you, I'd go home." She pointed in its direction.

Taffy brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. "Go away.
I hate you--I hate you all!"

She eyed him while she smoothed the sorrel's mane with her
riding-switch.

"They did it to me three years ago, when I was six. Grandfather
called it 'entering' me."

Taffy kept his eyes sullenly on the ground. Finding that he would
not answer, she turned her horse again and rode slowly after the
others. Taffy heard the soft footfalls die away, and when he looked
up she had vanished.

He picked up his boots and started in the direction to which she had
pointed. Every now and then a sob shook him. By-and-by the chimneys
of the house hove in sight among the ridges, and he ran toward it.
But within a gunshot of the white garden-wall his breast swelled
suddenly and he flung himself on the ground and let the big tears
run. They made little pits in the moving sand; and more sand drifted
up and covered them.

"Taffy! Taffy! Whatever has become of the child?"

His mother was standing by the gate in her print frock. He scrambled
up and ran toward her. She cried out at the sight of him, but he hid
his blood-smeared face against her skirts.

[1] Mattock.

CHAPTER V.

TAFFY RINGS THE CHURCH BELL.

They were in the church--Squire Moyle, Mr. Raymond, and Taffy close
behind. The two men were discussing the holes in the roof and other
dilapidations.

"One, two, three," the Squire counted. "I'll send a couple of men
with tarpaulin and rick-ropes. That'll tide us over next Sunday,
unless it blows hard."

They passed up three steps under the belfry arch. Here a big bell
rested on the flooring. Its rim was cracked, but not badly. A long
ladder reached up into the gloom.

"What's the beam like?" the Squire called up to someone aloft.