“How dare you, Mr. Jenkins!”
Marion’s eyes flashed like fire as she faced him.
Her sunbonnet had fallen off and showed her beautiful hair and rose-tinted features. The daisy chain fell and was trampled under her feet in the dust—the links which bound her wishes were scattered and broken.
“How dare you strike a poor orphan?” she cried again. “You are a coward to strike a boy! You ought to be kicked straight out of your position, Matt Jenkins!”
“Huh! You’re mighty independent, Marion Marlowe!” growled Matt Jenkins angrily. “I’ll tell yer father of ye, Miss High-flyer, an’ then we’ll see who gits the lickin’.”
“My father will never whip me again, Mr. Jenkins,” said the girl, almost sadly. “If he does I’ll run away, even if I starve to death in a big city.”
The boys were all staring at Marion now, and as she looked at them she saw that they sympathized fully with her sentiments.
“They don’t dare say so,” she thought, as she caught their eager glances. “Poor boys, they are actually envying me just because I have a father!”
Out loud she said bitterly:
“I mean it, Mr. Jenkins, and you can tell him I said so if you wish. I’m not a child any longer, I’m over sixteen! As old as my mother was when she was married,” she added proudly.