threw a stone at the dog, which sent him back, yelping piteously, to his
young master's feet. Stephen clenched his hands, and bit his lips till
the blood started, but he did not move till the last glimpse of his foes
had passed away from the hillside. Martha had hidden herself in the hut
while they were present, for she had never spoken to the dreaded master;
but she could overhear their loud and angry speeches, and now she came
out and joined Stephen.

'Well, I'd have more spirit than to cry,' she said, as Stephen brushed
his eyes with his sleeve; 'I'd never have spoken so gingerly to them, the
wizen-faced old rascals. The place is ours, and they can't turn us out.
It's no use to be cowed by them, Stephen.'

'They can turn me off the works,' answered Stephen sadly.

'And whatever shall we do then?' asked Martha, in alarm. 'Still I reckon
you'll say we are to love those old wretches.'

'The Book says so,' replied Stephen.

'Well, I won't set up to try to do it for one,' continued Martha
decisively; 'it's not nature; it's being over good by half. I'm willing
to do my duty by you and grandfather and little Nan; but that goes beyond
me. If you'd just give way, Stevie, and give them a good rating, you'd
feel better after it.'

'I don't know that,' he answered, walking gloomily towards the door. He
felt so much passion and anger within him, that it did seem as if it
would be a relief to utter some of the terrible oaths which he heard
frequently in the pit, and which had been familiar enough in his own