'Good evening, Miss Ruthyn--good evening, ma'am--and ye'll please remember,
I did not mean nout to vex thee.'

And so he swaggered away, jerking and waddling over the sward, and was soon
lost in the wood.

'It's well he's a little bit frightened--I never saw him so angry, I think;
he is awful mad.'

'Perhaps he really is not aware how very rude he is,' I suggested.

'I hate him. We were twice as pleasant with poor Tom Driver--he never
meddled with any one, and was always in liquor; Old Gin was the name he
went by. But this brute--I do hate him--he comes from Wigan, I think, and
he's always spoiling sport--and he whops Meg--that's Beauty, you know, and
I don't think she'd be half as bad only for him. Listen to him whistlin'.'

'I did hear whistling at some distance among the trees.'

'I declare if he isn't callin' the dogs! Climb up here, I tell ye,' and we
climbed up the slanting trunk of a great walnut tree, and strained our eyes
in the direction from which we expected the onset of Pegtop's vicious pack.

But it was a false alarm.

'Well, I don't think he _would_ do that, after all--_hardly_; but he is a
brute, sure!'

'And that dark girl who would not let us through, is his daughter, is she?'