"You--you devils!" He caught up the visgy and stood, daring all to
come on. "You devils!" He tottered forward with the visgy lifted--it
was all he could manage--at Squire Moyle. The old man let out an
oath, and the curve of his whip-thong took the boy across the eyes
and blinded him for a moment, but did not stop him. The grey horse
swerved, and half-wheeled, exposing 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."