The little building shivered in all its timbers, and the sound with which it reacted to the blow seemed something between a groan and a sob. Joyce stood still with horror in her eyes, and then the man raised the heavy iron and swung it back for another blow.
But Joyce, without knowing what she was doing, was all at once by his side:
“Oh!” she cried putting out a detaining hand upon the exact spot where the iron must strike, “Oh! Don’t!”
The man paused in his motion and looked at her in wonder, his iron on his shoulder:
“Ma’am?” he said astonished, “Did you speak?”
“Yes,” said Joyce shyly, “Why are you doing that? You will ruin the little house.”
“Them was the boss’ orders, ma’am. Wreck it. That’s what I’m here for.”
“But—Why? It’s a perfectly good little house.”
“He wants to clear this here corner, ma’am, and set the hedge out all the way around like the rest. He don’t want no office here any more, he’s bought the place. He said to get this out of the way the easiest way we knowed how. I’m obeyin’ orders, ma’am!”
The man raised his arm for another blow and intimated by his glance that he would be pleased if the lady would move a little further away and give him more room to strike. But Joyce only stepped nearer in her earnestness: