“Bah!” cried the other contemptuously. “If ye can crawl—crawl and bring me my hat.”
“The heavens,” answered Sir John, pointing thither with graceful flourish, “the heavens shall fall first, sir.”
“Ha, now—look’ee! You’ll bring me my hat, young man, or I’ll march you and yon vile old beldam into Dering and ha’ ye clapped into the stocks together for assault on the highway! D’ye hear?”
“Sir,” answered Sir John, “a fiddlestick!”
Uttering an angry exclamation, Mr. Sturton whipped a pistol from his holster, but as he did so, old Penelope whirled her long staff which, missing him by a fraction, took effect upon his horse, whereupon this much-enduring animal promptly bolted and galloped furiously away with Mr. Sturton in a cloud of dust.
“Lord ha’ mercy!” gasped old Penelope as the galloping hoof-beats blurred and died away. “Lord, what ’ave I done?”
“Removed an offence by a mere flourish o’ your magic wand, like the fairy godmother you are!” answered Sir John. “Mistress Penelope, accept my thanks—I salute you!” And, standing up in the ditch, he bowed gravely.
“Ha’ done, young man, ha’ done!” she cried distressfully. “He’ll raise the village again’ me ... he’ll ha’ me in the stocks again—an’ arl along o’ you! An’ I can’t bear they stocks like I used to ... they cramps my old bones s’cruel.... O Lord ha’ mercy! The stocks!” And, leaning on her staff, she bowed her white head and sobbed miserably.
In a moment Sir John was out of the ditch and, standing beside her, laid one white hand upon her shoulder, patting it gently.
“Penelope,” said he softly, “don’t weep! No man shall do you violence.... I swear none shall harm you any more ... so be comforted!”