outside, so she only
had the benefit of the spectacle.

Twice she opened her mouth to speak, but Bunty made such
frantic, imploring faces at her than she closed it again, and
even began to examine the bottles on the shelf near the door to
give the boy an opportunity of retreat.

One minute and he would, have been safe--one minute and he would
have been in the thick of the cactus, that had quite lost its terrors.

But the Fates were too strong for him. And all because Martha
Tomlinson's shoe was don at the heel. In turning round it twisted
a little under her, and, in trying to recover her balance, she put
out one hand. And in putting out one hand she knocked over a jug.
And the jug communicated its shock to dish. Which toppled over,
and coolly pushed the great basin of milk off the shelf on to the floor.
I don't know if ever you have tried to clean a board floor after milk,
but I am sure you can imagine it would be a disagreeable task,
especially if you had scrubbed it well only that morning. It was hardly
to be wondered at, therefore, that Martha, in her profound irritation
at the disaster, turned angrily round, and, pointing to the figure
now stuck in the window, demanded in an exasperated tone whether
the blessed saints could stand that dratted boy any longer, for she
couldn't, so there.

The Captain took an angry step into the pantry and gave a roar of
command for Bunty to come down.

The boy dropped in an agony of dread and shrinking.

"Always his hands a-pickin' and stealin' and his tongue a-lyin',"
said Martha Tomlinson, gazing unkindly at the unhappy child.

Two, three, four, five angry cuts from the riding-whip in the
Captain's hands, and Bunty had ducked under his arm and fled howling
down the passage and out of the back door.

Away across the paddocks he went, sobbing at every step, but hugely
commending himself for bearing all this for someone else's sake.

He could hardly have believed, had anyone told him previously, that
he could have done anything so absolutely noble, and the thought
comforted him even while the cuts and scratches smarted. He tried to
stifle his sobs as he reached the shed, and even stuffed half a
handful of currants into his mouth towards that end.

But it was a very tearful, scratched, miserable face that bobbed up
the opening near Judy again.

She did not move, though her eyes were half open, and he knelt down
and shook her shoulder gently.

"Here's some things,