“I think ’oo like Doe Cole,” replied Lally, nothing abashed at public attention being directed to her.
“And who may Joe Cole be?” persisted Mr. Black; but no one seemed disposed to afford him the information he desired.
“Who is this Joe Cole that I resemble?” repeated Mr. Black, looking round the circle, and especially at Bessie, who had her face buried in her pocket-handkerchief.
Round the circle, too, looked Lally. “He’s a fool,” she explained, evidently desirous of enlightening Mr. Black’s ignorance. Alick had raised a warning finger too late; out came the sentence in the middle of a dead silence; and then Bessie burst into a perfect scream of laughter; while Arthur, in angry tones, exclaimed, “Take that child away, somebody. She’s not fit to be among civilised people.”
“Ought to be whipped, and sent to bed,” volunteered Mrs. Ormson.
“Poor little thing traced some fancied resemblance,” urged Mrs. Black, as an extenuating circumstance.
“She is completely ruined,” said her father; and as the child passed him, led off the field by Bessie, he struck her, for the first time in his life, a smart blow, which caused Lally to break forth into a perfect paroxysm of grief.
In one moment Bessie had her in her arms, and faced round on the Squire. “I never had a greater mind to do anything than box your ears, Arthur,” she remarked. “I shall say you are like Joe Cole next;” and with that Miss Ormson swept away from the group, followed by some of the younger Dudleys, who were unanimously of opinion the matter was to be kept from Heather.
“I am so sorry, Bessie—oh! I am so sorry,” said Agnes Dudley.
“And so am I that all these people are here,” Bessie answered. “They will spoil Arthur among them, not that, goodness knows, there is much to spoil about him.”