I lit my pipe, and strolled along till I
reached the gate that led to Dill's meadow. Here I waited till
Pyrrha should appear.
As I sat and smoked, a voice struck suddenly on my ear--the voice
of Mrs. Dill, raised to shrillness by anger.
"Be off with you," she said, "and mind your ways, or worse 'll
happen to you. 'Ere's your switch."
After a moment Pyrrha turned the corner, and came toward me. She
was wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, and carried in
her hand a light hazel switch, which she used to guide errant
cows. She was almost at the gate before she saw me. She
started, and blushed very red.
"Lor! is it you, Mr. Robertson?" she said.
I nodded, but did not move.
"Let me pass, sir, please. I've no time to stop."
"What, not to talk to me, Pyrrha--Betsy, I mean?"
"Mother don't like me talking to gentlemen."
"You've been crying," said I.
"No, I haven't," said Pyrrha, quite violently.
"Mother been scolding you?"
"I wish you'd let me by, sir."
"What for?"
"It's all your fault," burst out Pyrrha. "I didn't want you; no,
nor him, either. What do you come and get me into trouble for?"
"I haven't done anything, Betsy. Come now!"
"You aint as bad as some," she conceded, a dim smile breaking
through the clouds.
"You mean Smugg," I observed.
"Who told you?" she cried.
"Joe," said I.
"Seems he's got a lot to say to everybody," she commented
resentfully.
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