Emily whispered to her mother, "Who is she?"
"Your poor cousin from London. You must be very kind to her, poor girl; she is so disagreeable."
Emily looked with a sort of awe at her sullen cousin.
Then Mrs. Rowles set her own child on the ground, and went and put her hand on Juliet's shoulder, saying, "Emily wants to thank you for being so brave. You have a spirit of your own!"
Juliet coloured as if angry at being praised, and said, "It ain't no use to have a spirit when you are stupid and awkward. I tore my sleeve with pulling at that dog."
"Oh, that is nothing; that can be mended. Now we must be getting home, or father will wonder where we are."
They went through the gate at the further side of the farm, and came out into fields. In one of these, but at a little distance, they saw the farmer and all his men and maids busily turning over the hay that it might be well dried by the early sun next morning. Juliet asked no questions, though she was surprised at every step by strange country customs; and it did not cross the minds of Mrs. Rowles and Emily to explain what they themselves knew so well. Indeed, Emily was still trembling from the fright she had undergone, and Mrs. Rowles's thoughts were fully occupied.
They came to a stile over which they climbed, Juliet so awkwardly that she slipped into a ditch among sting-nettles.
"Oh, the horrid things!" she exclaimed; "they've bitten me!"
"It is only nettles," said her aunt; "you've got stung."