search of Beth; and now, mistaking that
smile for a sign of defiance, she seized upon her, and had beaten her
severely before it was possible to interfere. Beth, dazed by this
sudden onslaught, staggered when she let her go, and stretched out her
little hands as if groping for some support.

"It wasn't your fault!--it wasn't your fault!" she gasped, her first
instinct being to exonerate her father.

Captain Caldwell had started up and caught his wife by the arm.

"That's enough," he said harshly. "You are going altogether the wrong
way to work with the child. Let this be the last time, do you
understand? Beth, go to the nursery, and ask Anne to get you some tea."
A sharp pain shot through his head. He had jumped up too quickly, and
now fell back on the sofa with a groan.

"Oh, let me brush it again," Beth cried, in an agony of sympathy.

Her father opened his haggard eyes and smiled.

"Go to the nursery, like a good child," he said, "and get some tea."

Beth went without another word. But all that evening her mind was with
her parents in the sitting-room, wondering--wondering what they were
saying to each other.

CHAPTER VIII

Next day Beth jumped out of bed early, and washed herself all over, in
an excess of grateful zeal, because she was to be taken out on the
car. As soon as she had had her breakfast, she ran into the yard to
feed her magpie. Its perch was in a comfortable corner sheltered by
the great turf-stack which had been built up against the wall that
divided the Caldwells' yard from that of Pat Murphy, the farrier.
Beth, in wild spirits, ran round the stack, calling "Mag, Mag!" as she
went. But Mag, alas! was never more to respond to her call. He was
hanging by the leg from his perch, head downward, wings outstretched,
and glossy feathers ruffled; and below him, on the ground, some stones
were scattered which told the tale of cruelty and petty spite.

Beth stood for a moment transfixed; but in that moment the whole thing
became clear to her--the way in which the deed was done, the man that
did it, and his motive. She glanced up to the top of the high wall,
and then, breathing thick through her clenched teeth, in her rage she
climbed up the turf-stack with the agility of a cat, and looked over
into the farrier's yard.

"Come out of that, Pat Murphy, ye black-hearted, murthering villain,"
she shrieked. "I see ye skulking there behind the stable-door. Come
out, I tell ye, and bad luck to yo