long and get washed and changed before your
father catches you. It looks to me you've lost one of your eyebrows, but
the other one's so pale I daresay 'twon't be noticed. Or I might give you
a pair with a piece of burnt cork."

It was while she stood considering this that Mr. Sam and her aunt made
their appearance round the corner of the road.

"Whatever in the round world have you children been doin'?" panted Mrs.
Purchase, and wound up with a gasp at sight of Calvin's face.

"I believe I'm going to die!" The boy began to writhe again.

"What has happened?" his father demanded, with a shake in the voice,
stooping to lift him.

"She--she tried to kill me!" Calvin pointed at her with vindictive finger,
and at once clasped both hands over his stomach.

"I did not," retorted Myra.

"Ask her who brought the powder and laid a train right under me! Ask her
what she's doing with that box of matches!"

"Is that true?" Mr. Sam demanded again, straightening himself up and
fixing a terrible stare on Myra.

The girl's face hardened. "Yes, I brought the powder." She pointed to
the flask lying in the roadway.

"You dare to tell me that you did this deliberately?"

"I never did it at all."

"Yes, she did!" almost screamed the boy. "She put the powder here; she
owns up to it."

Myra shrugged her shoulders and turned away. "Very well; he's telling a
nasty fib, but you can believe him if you like."

"Stop a minute, miss." Mr. Sam strode across to her. "You don't get off
in that fashion, I promise you!"

She looked up at him sidewise, under lowered brows. "Are you going to
beat me?" she asked quietly.

The question took Mr. Sam aback. "You deserve a whipping if ever a girl
did," he answered, after a second or two. "First, it seems, you almost
succeed in killing your cousin, and then you tell a falsehood about it."

"I have told you the truth. I put the powder there. As for meaning to
kill him, that's nonsense, and he knows it. I didn't even mean to hurt
him, though he deserves it."

"Deserves it!" echoed Mr. Sam.

"Yes, for robbing Clem."

"Sam--Sam!" Mrs. Purchase thrust herself between them. "What's the
matter? Don't go for to hurt the child!"

"What--what does she mean, then?" He had stretched out a hand to grip
Myra by the shoulder, but fell back with a yellow face.

"Tom Trevarthen told me." Myra pointed from father to son. "He says
you're no better than a pair of robbers."

"Myra,"