into the highway ran a lean young man with an angry woman in pursuit.
His shoulders were bent and he put up both hands to ward off her
clutch. But in the middle of the road she gripped him by the collar
and caught him two sound cuffs on the nape of the neck.

She turned as we rode up. "The villain!" she cried, still keeping
her grip. "Oh, protect me from such villains!"

"But, my good woman," remonstrated my father, reining up,
"it scarcely appears that you need protecting. Who is this man?"

"A thief, your honour! Didn't I catch him prowling into my garden?
And isn't it for him to say what his business was? I put it to your
honour"--here she caught the poor wretch another cuff--"what honest
business took him into my garden, and me left a widow-woman these
sixteen years?"

"Ai-ee!" cried the accused, still shielding his neck and cowering in
the dust--a thin ragged windlestraw of a youth, flaxen-headed,
hatchet-faced, with eyes set like a hare's. "Have pity on me sirs,
and take her off!"

"Let him stand up," my father commanded. "And you sir, tell me--
What were you seeking in this good woman's garden?"

"A rose, sir--hear my defence!--a rose only, a small rose!"
His voice was high and cracked, and he flung his hands out
extravagantly. "Oh, York and Lancaster--if you will excuse me,
gentlemen--that I should suffer this for a mere rose? The day only
just begun too! And why, sirs, was I seeking a rose? Ay, there's