He swung up the hammer, but he was too drunk to take aim, and the action woke her out of the trance of fear into which he had plunged her. She felt something graze bruisingly down her hip—then she was scrambling on her feet again, rushing for the hedge.
The hedge of Twelve Pound field is a thick hedge of wattles and thorn. Ivy, too mad to look for a gap, tried to force her way through it. Her head and arms stuck, and she heard Jerry running. Then at last loud screams broke from her—scream after scream, as he seized her by the feet and pulled her backwards through the brambles, leaving shreds of blue gown and yellow hair on every twig. He pulled her out, and flung her rolling on the grass; then the hammer swung again....
But the field was full of shoutings and voices, of feet trampling round her head. Then two hands came under her armpits, dragging her up, and she saw her father. She saw her brother Harry, looking very green and scared, and last of all Jerry plunging in the lock of two huge arms, which gripped him powerless and belonged to the Reverend Mr. Sumption.
“Take her away,” said the minister. “I’ll keep hold of the boy.”
“I wouldn’t have hurt her,” moaned Jerry. “I’m a clergyman’s son—I’d have killed her without any pain.”
“Come hoame, Ivy,” said Mus’ Beatup, and began to lead her away.
“Is it dinner-time?” asked Ivy stupidly.
Harry gave a nervous guffaw.
“I’ll be round and see you, neighbour,” said Sumption, “soon as I’ve got this poor boy safe.”