“The creetical moment! and I interfere! David, ye'll never forgie me.”
The boy jumped round with an oath; and Maggie, her face flaming, started to her feet. The tone, the words, the look of the little man at the window were alike insufferable.
“By thunder! I'll teach yo' to come spyin' on me!” roared David. Above him on the mantelpiece blazed the Shepherds' Trophy. Searching any missile in his fury, he reached up a hand for it.
“Ay, gie it me back, Ye robbed me o't,” the little man cried, holding out his arms as if to receive it.
“Dinna, David,” pleaded Maggie, with restraining hand on her lover's arm.
“By the Lord! I'll give him something!” yelled the boy. Close by there stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and slashed its contents at the leering face in the window.
The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and soused him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the chest, and rolled him over in the mud. After it with a rush came David.
“I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!” he yelled. “I'll—”
Maggie, whose face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung to him, hampering him.
“Dinna, David, dinna!” she implored. “He's yer ain dad.”