again addressed him with the assurance that, on reaching home, I would tell
my uncle how he had treated the poor girl.

''Tis you she may thank for't, a wheedling o' her to open that gate,' he
snarled.

'That's a lie; we went round by the brook,' cried Milly.

I did not think proper to discuss the matter with him; and looking very
angry, and, I thought, a little put out, he jerked and swayed himself out
of sight. I merely repeated my promise of informing my uncle as he went, to
which, over his shoulder, he bawled--

'Silas won't mind ye _that_;' snapping his horny finger and thumb.

The girl remained where she had stood, wiping the blood off roughly with
the palm of her hand, and looking at it before she rubbed it on her apron.
'My poor girl,' I said, 'you must not cry. I'll speak to my uncle about
you.'

But she was not crying. She raised her head, and looked at us a little
askance, with a sullen contempt, I thought.

'And you must have these apples--won't you?' We had brought in our basket
two or three of those splendid apples for which Bartram was famous.

I hesitated to go near her, these Hawkeses, Beauty and Pegtop, were such
savages. So I rolled the apples gently along the ground to her feet.

She continued to look doggedly at us with the same expression, and kicked