“No, no! Go away, ugly woman,” cried Mary ungratefully, flapping at her with her hands in terror at the brown face and big black eyes.
“Oh, naughty, naughty Mary,” sighed the mother, “when Tirzah is so good, and wants to help you! Don’t be a naughty child!”
But the word naughty provoked such a fit of crying that there was nothing for it but for Mrs Carbonel to pick the child up and struggle on as best she could, soothing her terror at the narrow paths and the unknown way, and the mysterious alarm of the woodlands, as well, perhaps, as the undefined sense of other people’s dread and agitation. However, the crying was quiet now, and the sounds of tumult at the farm were stifled by the trees, so that after a time—which seemed terribly long—the party emerged into an open meadow, whence they could see the gate leading to the high road, and beyond that the roof of Mrs Pearson’s house.
But something else was to be seen far up the road. There was the flash of the sun from helmets! The Yeomanry were coming!
“There’s papa!” cried Mrs Carbonel. “Papa in his pretty silver dress. Run on, run on, Mary, and see him.”
Mary was let down, still drawing long sobs as she half ran, half toddled on, allowing herself to be pulled by Tirzah Todd’s free hand, while her mother sped on to the gate, just in time for the astonished greeting of one of the little troop.
“Mrs Carbonel! What?”
And the next moment her husband was off his horse and by her side with anxious inquiries.
“Yes, yes, dear Edmund! We are all safe. Good Tirzah came to warn us. Make haste! They are at the farm. We shall be at Mrs Pearson’s. She,” (pointing to Tirzah) “sent to fetch Sophy from school. She’ll be there. Here are the children all safe.”
“Papa, papa,” cried little Mary, feeling his silver-laced collar, and stroking his face as he kissed her.