"You're more frightened than hurt," she remarked, with a half-contemptuous glance at Gwethyn. "What do you want here?"
"We came to ask if we could buy some milk," stammered Katrine. "I suppose this is a farm?"
"No, it isn't a farm, and we don't sell milk."
The girl's tone was ungracious; her appearance also was the reverse of attractive. Her sharp features and sallow complexion had an unwholesome look, her hair was lank and lustreless, and the bright, dark eyes did not hold a pleasant expression. She wore a blue gingham overall pinafore that hid her dress.
"Where are you from? And what are you doing here so early?" she continued, gazing curiously at Katrine and Gwethyn.
"We've bicycled from Aireyholme——" began Gwethyn.
"You're never the new girls? Oh, I say! Who gave you leave to go out? Nobody? Well, I shouldn't care to be you when you get back, that's all! Mrs. Franklin will have something to say!"
"Do you know her, then?" gasped Gwethyn.
"Know her? I should think I do—just a little! If you'll take my advice, you'll ride back as quick as you can. Ta-ta! I must go and feed my chickens now. Oh, you will catch it!"
She walked away, chuckling to herself as if she rather enjoyed the prospect of their discomfiture; as she turned into the garden she looked round, and laughed outright.