A pretty woman, but with a stern countenance, now came forth from the cottage, and asked what the rout was about.
“Only our Tom and the lady boxing,” cried the children.
“For shame of yourself, Sir! How dare you behave so to your betters?”
“I would have struck her,” said the boy, sullenly, “had she been as tall as the steeple, and as great as King George But come, little Miss, with me, and let that great girl do what she likes.”
He now ran off with Isabella.
“Very well, Sir! but I shall tell your father of this, or my name’s not Grace Johnson! But come into the cottage, Miss; and let us see what we can do with your frock, for it is in a sad state.”
Miss Bruce followed the cottager, a little ashamed of her appearance; but more afraid of consequences. She was, however, one of those self-willed young ladies, who think upon a thing one moment, and act upon it the next.
When Isabella and her champion arrived at the garden-gate, behold it was locked! What was to be done was now the consideration.
“We’ll tell the truth at once,” said the boy: “it may be blamed, but, as the copy says, it never can be shamed. But don’t look so down, Miss: never mind a bit of a thrashing! Father gives me many a one; but I never flinch!”
“If I am not afraid of that, I am afraid of Mrs. Adair looking serious; and not wishing me good-night. But do look and see if you can see monitrix.”