“There!” shrieked Mary, triumphantly; “you have betrayed yourself, Bart. Now perhaps my brave brother will confess that he lay in wait in the dark for an unarmed man, and helped to beat him nearly to death.”
“You’re a nice fellow to trust, Bart,” said Abel, looking at his companion. “Betrayed yourself directly.”
“Couldn’t help it,” grumbled Bart. “She’s so sharp upon a man.”
“You cowards!” cried Mary again.
“Well, I don’t know about being cowards,” said Abel, sullenly. “He was mounted and had his weapons, and we had only two sticks.”
“Then you confess it was you? Oh! what a villain to have for a brother!”
“Here, don’t go on like that,” cried Abel. “See how he has served you.”
“What’s that to you?” cried Mary, fiercely. “If he jilted me and I forgive him, how dare you interfere?”
“Phew!” whistled Bart to himself. “What a way she has!”
“Why, any one would think you cared for him, Polly,” said Abel, staring, while Bart whistled softly again, and wiped the heavy dew from his forehead.