young Squire, as they called him, was in one of the worst of his rages,
having been forbidden by his mother to go to a coursing meeting which
he wished to attend. In this state he shut himself up in the library,
swearing that he would do a mischief to anyone who came near him, a
promise which, being very strong for his years, he was quite capable of
keeping. The man-servant was told to go in and bring him out, but hung
back.

"Bless you," said Bess, "I ain't afraid," and without hesitation walked
into the room and shut the door behind her.

Barbara, listening afar off, heard a shout of "Get out!" followed by
a fearful crash, and trembled, for all violence was abominable to her
nature.

"He will injure that poor girl," she said to herself, and rose,
proposing to enter the library and face her son.

As she hurried down the long Elizabethan corridor, however, she heard
another sound that came to her through an open window, that of Anthony
laughing in his jolliest and most uproarious manner and of the housemaid
Bess, laughing with him. She stayed where she was and listened. Bess had
left the library and was coming across the courtyard, where one of the
other servants met her and asked some question that Barbara did not
catch. The answer in Bess's ringing voice was clear enough.

"Lord!" she said, "they always gave me the wild colts to break upon the
farm. It is a matter of eye and handling, that's all. He nearly got me
with that plaster thing, so I went for him and boxed his ears till he
was dazed. Then I kissed him afterwards till he laughed, and he'll never