"You impudent little vixen! I'll make you repent yesterday's conduct," thundered the squire, catching her by the shoulder and shaking her till she was breathless.
"Loo—loo—look here, old gentleman, do—do—don't you try that again!" stuttered Gipsy, panting for breath, and wrenching herself, by a powerful jerk, free from his grasp.
"Why didn't you come home when I sent for you? Answer me that, or I won't leave a sound bone in your body. Now, then!"
"Well, Guardy, to tell the truth, it was because I didn't choose to. Now, then!"
"You—you—you incomparable little impudence, I'll fairly murder you!" shouted the squire, raising his hand in his rage to strike her a blow, which would assuredly have killed her; but Gipsy adroitly dodged, and his hand fell with stunning force on the hall table.
With something between a howl and a yell, he started after her as she ran screaming with laughter; and seizing her in a corner, where she had sunk down exhausted and powerless with her inward convulsions, he shook her until he could shake her no longer.
"I'll lock you up! I'll turn you out of doors! I'll thrash you while I am able to stand over you! No, I won't thrash a woman in my own house, but I'll lock you up and starve you to death. I'll be hanged if I don't!"
"You'll be hanged if you do, you mean."
"Come along; we'll see what effect hunger and solitary confinement will have on your high spirits, my lady," said the squire, seizing her by the arm and dragging her along.
"Guardy, if you do, my ghost'll haunt you every night, just as sure as shooting," said Gipsy, solemnly.