as he stood before her where she sat on the oaken settle on which he had
lifted her.

"No," quoth little Mistress, her black brows drawn down, her handsome
owl's eyes verily seeming to look him through and through in search of
somewhat; for, in sooth, her rage abating before his jovial humour, the
big burly laugher attracted her attention, though she was not disposed to
show him that she leaned towards any favour or yielding.

"I am thy Dad," he said. "'Twas thy Dad thou gavest such a trouncing.
And thou hast an arm, too. Let's cast an eye on it."

He took her wrist and pushed up her sleeve, but she dragged back.

"Will not be mauled," she cried. "Get away from me!"

He shouted with laughter again. He had seen that the little arm was as
white and hard as marble, and had such muscles as a great boy might have
been a braggart about.

"By Gad!" he said, elated. "What a wench of six years old. Wilt have my
crop and trounce thy Dad again!"

He picked up the crop from the place where she had thrown it, and
forthwith gave it in her hand. She took it, but was no more in the
humour to beat him, and as she looked still frowning from him to the
whip, the latter brought back to her mind the horse she had set out in
search of.

"Where is my horse?" she said, and 'twas in the tone of an imperial