in upon Sam and his company of tormentors and, knocking the
little ones right and left, she sprang upon Sam with a fierce cry.

"You great brute!" She seized him by his thatch of thick red hair and
with one mighty swing she hurled him clear of Steve and dashed him head
on against the lane fence. Sheer surprise held Sam silent for a few
seconds, but as he felt the trickle of warm blood run down his face and
saw it red upon his hand, his surprise gave place to terror.

"Ouw! Ouw!" he bellowed. "I'm killed, I'm dying. Ouw! Ouw!"

"I hope so," said Annette, holding Steve in her arms and seeking to
quiet his sobbing. But as she saw the streaming blood her face paled.

"For the love of Mike, Mack, see if he's hurt," she said in a low voice
to her companion.

"Not he! He's makin' too much noise," said the young man. "Here, you
young bull, wait till I see what's wrang wi' ye," he continued, stooping
over Sam.

"Get away from me, I tell you. Ouw! Ouw! I'm dying, and they'll hang
her. Ouw! Ouw! I'm killed, and I'm just glad I am, for she'll be hung to
death." Here Sam broke into a vigorous stream of profanity.

"Ay, he's improvin' A doot," said Mack. "Let us be going."

"'Ello! Wot's (h)up?" cried a voice. It was Mr. Wigglesworth on his way
home from the mill. "Why, bless my living lights, if it bean't Samuel.
Who's been a beatin' of you, Sammy?" His eye swept the crowd. "'Ave you
been at my lad?" he asked, stepping toward the young man, whom Annette
named Mack.

"Aw, steady up, man. There's naethin' much wrang wi' the lad--a wee
scratch on the heid frae fa'in' against the fence yonder."

"Who 'it 'im, I say?" shouted Mr. Wigglesworth. "Was it you?" he added,
squaring up to the young man.

"No, it wasn't, Mr. Wigglesworth. It was me." Mr. Wigglesworth turned
on Annette who, now that Sam's bellowing had much abated with the
appearance of his father upon the scene, had somewhat regained her
nerve.

"You?" gasped Mr. Wigglesworth. "You? My Samuel? It's a lie," he cried.

"Hey, mon, guairrd y're tongue a bit," said Mack. "Mind ye're speakin'
to a leddy."

"A lidy! A lidy!" Mr. Wigglesworth's voice was eloquent of scorn.

"Aye, a leddy!" said Mack. "An' mind what ye say aboot her tae. Mind
y're manners, man."

"My manners, hey? An' 'oo may you be, to learn me manners, you bloomin'
(h)ignorant Scotch (h)ass. You give me (h)any of your (h)imperance an'
I'll knock y're bloomin' block (h)off, I will." And Mr. Wiggleswo