'Lydia never asked what her brother liked by the river-side,' said Angela, hastily fastening her head gear.
'Oh! don't let her go. Isa—Bridget—they'll hurt her. My dear! Stop her,' entreated the sick sister.
'Miss Underwood going out to a Ranter!' cried Miss Bridget.
'Your brothers will never forgive us,' sobbed Miss Martha. And Miss Isabella laid hands on her. 'It is not proper, Angela, I cannot suffer it.'
'I cannot suffer violence to be done to one who is preaching that Name for petty scruples of worldly propriety.'
'They'll throw stones—She'll be hurt,' sobbed Miss Hepburn.
'You know better, dear Miss Hepburn,' said Angela, turning with a smile.
In another moment she was gone, out into the road.
There was a hush at once. The boys all turned round, and the nearest, a lively mischievous fellow, accosted her with a touch of his hat, and evident sense of high desert. 'Us aint a bin listening to that there chap, ma'am. Us be going to send he off faster than he came. Us don't want none of his sort.'
'How do you know that, George?' responded Angela, to his great amazement. 'How do you know he has not the very message you have been wanting so long.'