“What a hog of a man to be robbing those poor little children of their candy!” exclaimed a motherly-looking country woman in the next seat, apparently addressing her remark to a young girl at her side, but speaking loud enough for Coote and other near-by passengers to hear.
The train was just starting. Coote leaned over the back of the seat, bringing his mouth near to Harry’s ear.
“You keep quiet, you young dog,” he said savagely, “or I’ll pitch you out the window and let the train run over you and kill you.”
“Oh, you wicked, wicked man!” cried Ethel, with a burst of tears, putting her arm round Harry and holding him close; “if you do you’ll get hung for murder.”
“Take care, miss; it wouldn’t take long to send you after him,” was the threatening rejoinder, and Coote leaned back in his seat again, took a newspaper from his pocket, and sat looking over it while devouring with evident enjoyment the candy of which he had robbed the children.
CHAPTER VI.
It was a lovely day early in October, and the children enjoyed gazing out upon the landscape, so new to them, the gorgeous coloring of the forest trees particularly attracting their attention. They were close together, having possession of a corner near the door of the car, where two seats at right angles gave them abundance of room to move about and gaze their fill, now on the outer world, now at the occupants of the seats near at hand. They were pretty quiet, and disturbed no one but each other with their prattle and fidgeting.
The sun was near its setting when they arrived at their destination. They were bundled very unceremoniously out of the car and hurried along the street by Mr. Coote, who seemed in hot haste to reach his parsonage, some two or three squares distant. Poor little Nannette found it very hard—indeed quite impossible—to keep up with him in his rapid strides, though Ethel on one side and Blanche on the other were doing their utmost to help her along. And even they, without that hindrance, could not possibly have kept pace with their conductor. Nor could Harry, and he too fell behind with them, and all four were crying more or less when they reached the gate where Coote stood awaiting their coming, with a scowl of impatience upon his ugly features.
“I thought you were close behind me. You’ll have to learn to walk faster. Dawdling along is something I’ll not put up with,” he growled, snatching Nannette up roughly and carrying her into the house, the others following in obedience to the gruff order, “Come along in, all o’ you.”
A middle-aged woman—tall, rawboned, of scowling countenance and stiffly starched in manner, stood waiting in the hall.