“Who are you?” he cried hotly, “and what are you doing in my garden, you young ragamuffins? What are you doing, I say? Is it you who have been tampering with my beds day after day, and ruining all my seeds?”
“Please, sir,” began Aaron, stammering and stuttering, and frightened nearly out of his wits—“please, sir, we didn’t mean no ’arm; we didn’t know——”
“What didn’t you know? You knew you had no right in here. You will know it now, at any rate, for you will just wait here until I get a policeman; then perhaps you will remember another time.”
Loveday was filled with horror, and could scarcely believe her ears. A policeman to be sent for, for her, Miss Loveday Carlyon! Oh, it couldn’t be true! He couldn’t mean it! It was a mistake. But oh, if only father were here, or mother, to explain!
They were far away, though, and Mr. Winter was here, talking more and more angrily, and saying, “Come with me, come with me, and I’ll see that you are safe till the police come!”
“I must explain to him myself,” thought Loveday. “Aaron isn’t any good”—which was quite true, for all Aaron’s thoughts were taken up in trying not to cry. He was much too scared to speak. Loveday went a little nearer the angry old man.
“Please, Mr. Winter,” she said, but very tremblingly, “we only wanted to do something kind for you. We weren’t stealing, or doing any harm. We never touched a flower—we didn’t see one to touch, but we wouldn’t have if we had.”
Mr. Winter stopped in his angry words as soon as she began to speak. Expecting, as he had, to hear the speech of one of the village children, Loveday’s pretty, refined voice gave him a shock of surprise. He looked at her more keenly, and with some curiosity.
“Kind!” he cried; “what do you mean? You wanted to be kind? Why should you? And why should you come into my garden to play pranks, and then call them kindnesses? Why are you up and out wandering about the country at this hour of the morning? Whose children are you?”