"I can see the tears," declared Miss Nugent, bending.

Mr. Wilks plied the rod again until his victim, with a sudden turn,
fetched him a violent kick on the shin and broke loose. The ex-steward
set off in pursuit, somewhat handicapped by the fact that he dare not go
over flower-beds, whilst Master Hardy was singularly free from such
prejudices. Miss Nugent ran to the side-entrance to cut off his retreat.
She was willing for him to be released, but not to escape, and so it fell
out that the boy, dodging beneath Mr. Wilks's outspread arms, charged
blindly up the side-entrance and bowled the young lady over.

There was a shrill squeal, a flutter of white, and a neat pair of button
boots waving in the air. Then Miss Nugent, sobbing piteously, rose from
the puddle into which she had fallen and surveyed her garments. Mr.
Wilks surveyed them, too, and a very cursory glance was sufficient to
show him that the case was beyond his powers. He took the outraged
damsel by the hand, and led her, howling lustily, in to the horrified
Ann.

"My word," said she, gasping. "Look at your gloves! Look at your
frock!"

But Miss Nugent was looking at her knees. There was only a slight
redness about the left, but from the right a piece of skin was
indubitably missing. This knee she gave Ann instructions to foment with
fair water of a comfortable temperature, indulging in satisfied
prognostications as to the fate of Master Hardy when her father should
see the damage.

The news, when the captain came home, was broken to him by degrees.