The enraged woman, in her outraged feelings, threw a pail of dirty water after him, some of which splashed him and completed the disfigurement of his white suit. He looked up and down to see for the poor woman with the milk, that he might console her poverty and open her eyes to her sins; but she was not within sight; and Bertie reflected that if he stopped to correct other people’s errors he should never see the world and find his kingdom.
He had eaten a hearty meal, and his spirits rose and his heart was full of hope and valor; and if he had only had Ralph with him, he would have been quite happy.
So he went away valorously across a broad rolling down, and about half a mile farther on he came to a little shed. In the shed were a fire, and a man, and a pig; in the fire was an iron, and the pig was tied by a rope to a ring. Bertie saw the man take the red-hot iron and go up to the pig: Bertie’s face grew blanched with horror.
“Stop, stop! what are you doing to the pig?” he screamed, as he ran in to the man, who looked up and stared.
“I be branding the pig. Get out, or I’ll brand you!” he cried. Bertie held his ground; his eyes were flashing.
“You wicked, wicked man! Do you not know that poor pig was made by God?”
“Dunno,” said the wretch, with a grin. “She’ll be eat by men, come Candlemas! I be marking of her, ’cos I’ll turn her out on the downs with t’other. Git out, youngster! you’ve no call here.”
Bertie planted himself firmly on his feet, and doubled his little fists.
“I will not see you do such a cruelty to a poor dumb thing,” he said, while he grew white as death, “I will not.”
The man scowled and yet grinned.