“To be sure they should,” added Betty.
Susan, though she was generous, was not weak; she was willing to give to those she loved, but not disposed to let anything be taken from her, or coaxed out of her, by those she had reason to despise. She civilly answered, that she was sorry she had no more honey to spare.
Barbara grew angry, and lost all command of herself, when she saw that Susan, without regarding her reproaches, went on looking through the glass pane in the beehive. “I’ll tell you what, Susan Price,” said she, in a high tone, “the honey I will have, so you may as well give it to me by fair means. Yes or no! Speak! Will you give it me or not? Will you give me that piece of the honey-comb that lies there?”
“That bit of honey-comb is for my mother’s breakfast,” said Susan; “I cannot give it you.”
“Can’t you?” said Bab, “then see if I don’t take it!” She stretched across Susan for the honey-comb, which was lying by some rosemary leaves that Susan had freshly gathered for her mother’s tea. Bab grasped, but at her first effort she only reached the rosemary. She made a second dart at the honey-comb, and, in her struggle to obtain it, she overset the beehive. The bees swarmed about her. Her maid Betty screamed and ran away. Susan, who was sheltered by a laburnum tree, called to Barbara, upon whom the black clusters of bees were now settling, and begged her to stand still, and not to beat them away. “If you stand quietly you won’t be stung, perhaps.” But instead of standing quietly, Bab buffeted and stamped and roared, and the bees stung her terribly. Her arms and her face swelled in a frightful manner. She was helped home by poor Susan and treacherous Mrs. Betty, who, now the mischief was done, thought only of exculpating herself to her master.
“Indeed, Miss Barbara,” said she, “this was quite wrong of you to go and get yourself into such a scrape. I shall be turned away for it, you’ll see.”
“I don’t care whether you are turned away or not,” said Barbara; “I never felt such pain in my life. Can’t you do something for me? I don’t mind the pain either so much as being such a fright. Pray, how am I to be fit to be seen at breakfast by Mrs. Strathspey; and I suppose I can’t go to the ball either to-morrow, after all!”
“No, that you can’t expect to do, indeed,” said Betty, the comforter. “You need not think of balls; for those lumps and swellings won’t go off your face this week. That’s not what pains me; but I’m thinking of what your papa will say to me when he sees you, miss.”
Whilst this amiable mistress and maid were in their adversity reviling one another, Susan, when she saw that she could be of no further use, was preparing to depart, but at the house-door, she was met by Mr. Case. Mr. Case had revolved things in his mind; for his second visit at the Abbey pleased him as little as his first, owing to a few words which Sir Arthur and Miss Somers dropped in speaking of Susan and Farmer Price. Mr. Case began to fear that he had mistaken his game in quarrelling with this family. The refusal of his present dwelt upon the attorney’s mind; and he was aware that, if the history of Susan’s lamb ever reached the Abbey, he was undone. He now thought that the most prudent course he could possibly follow would be to hush up matters with the Prices with all convenient speed. Consequently, when he met Susan at his door, he forced a gracious smile. “How is your mother, Susan?” said he. “Is there anything in our house can be of service to her?” On hearing his daughter he cried out, “Barbara, Barbara—Bab! come downstairs, child, and speak to Susan Price.” But as no Barbara answered, her father stalked upstairs directly, opened the door, and stood amazed at the spectacle of her swelled visage.
Betty instantly began to tell the story of Barbara’s mishap her own way. Bab contradicted her as fast as she spoke. The attorney turned the maid away on the spot; and partly with real anger, and partly with feigned affectation of anger, he demanded from his daughter how she dared to treat Susan Price so ill, “when,” as he said, “she was so neighbourly and obliging as to give you some of her honey? Couldn’t you be content, without seizing upon the honey-comb by force? This is scandalous behaviour, and what, I assure you, I can’t countenance.”