“You wouldn’t mind, Dora, if I helped gather some flowers, too?”
“Indeed, no; but I want you to do it in honor of the Blessed Virgin.”
“Of course. I’ll get some tomorrow.”
It was in consequence of this conversation, then, that Clarence was wandering in the woods. His quest was disappointing. No flowers greeted his searching eyes. Further and further he wandered. Suddenly, he was roughly seized by the collar from behind, and turning he saw that Pete had him in his vigorous grip, Pete with a branch of willow in his free hand.
“I told you not to try to get away,” snarled the gypsy bringing the branch smartly upon Clarence’s legs.
“Stop that! I wasn’t trying to get away at all.”
For answer, Pete laid the lash unmercifully upon the powerless boy, beating him with all his strength. The pain became so great that Clarence at length unable to restrain himself further burst into a loud cry for mercy.
Pete paused, looking around apprehensively. His keen ear detected the sound of far-off footsteps. Throwing the willow aside, he released his hold on the boy (who sank to the ground writhing in pain) and disappeared in his usually stealthy manner, into the bushes.
It was Ben who had heard the boy’s cry of pain.
“What has happened?” he cried looking with concern upon the writhing lad.