LITMIR.BIZ

      Master Hardy had also seen the ship out, and, perched on the extreme end of the breakwater, he remained watching until she was hull down on the horizon. Then he made his way back to the town and the nearest confectioner, and started for home just as Miss Nugent, who was about to pay a call with her aunt, waited, beautifully dressed, in the front garden while that lady completed her preparations.

      Feeling very spic and span, and still a trifle uncomfortable from the vigorous attentions of Ann, who cleansed her as though she had been a doorstep, she paced slowly up and down the path. Upon these occasions of high dress a spirit of Sabbath calm was wont to descend upon her and save her from escapades to which in a less severe garb she was somewhat prone.

      She stopped at the gate and looked up the road. Then her face flushed, and she cast her eyes behind her to make sure that the hall-door stood open. The hated scion of the house of Hardy was coming down the road, and, in view of that fact, she forgot all else—even her manners.

      The boy, still fresh from the loss of his natural protector, kept a wary eye on the house as he approached. Then all expression died out of his face, and he passed the gate, blankly ignoring the small girl who was leaning over it and apparently suffering from elephantiasis of the tongue. He went by quietly, and Miss Nugent, raging inwardly that she had misbehaved to no purpose, withdrew her tongue for more legitimate uses.

      “Boo,” she cried; “who had his hair pulled?”

      Master Hardy pursued the even tenor of his way.

      “Who's afraid to answer me for fear my father will thrash him?” cried the disappointed lady, raising her voice.

      This was too much. The enemy retraced his steps and came up to the gate.

      “You're a rude little girl,” he said, with an insufferably grown-up air.

      “Who had his hair pulled?” demanded Miss Nugent, capering wildly; “who had his hair pulled?”

      “Don't be silly,” said Master Hardy. “Here.” He put his hand in his pocket, and producing some nuts offered them over the gate. At this Miss Nugent ceased her capering, and wrath possessed her that the enemy should thus misunderstand the gravity of the situation.

      “Well, give 'em to Jack, then,” pursued the boy; “he won't say no.”

      This was a distinct reflection on Jack's loyalty, and her indignation was not lessened by the fact that she knew it was true.

      “Go away from our gate,” she stormed. “If my father catches you, you'll suffer.”

      “Pooh!” said the dare-devil. He looked up at the house and then, opening the gate, strode boldly into the front garden. Before this intrusion Miss Nugent retreated in alarm, and gaining the door-step gazed at him in dismay. Then her face cleared suddenly, and Master Hardy looking over his shoulder saw that his retreat was cut off by Mr. Wilks.

      “Don't let him hurt me, Sam,” entreated Miss Nugent, piteously.

      Mr. Wilks came into the garden and closed the gate behind him.

      “I wasn't going to hurt her,” cried Master Hardy, anxiously; “as if I should hurt a girl!

      “Wot are you doing in our front garden, then?” demanded Mr. Wilks.

      He sprang forward suddenly and, catching the boy by the collar with one huge hand, dragged him, struggling violently, down the side-entrance into the back garden. Miss Nugent, following close behind, sought to improve the occasion.

      “See what you get by coming into our garden,” she said.

      The victim made no reply. He was writhing strenuously in order to frustrate Mr. Wilks's evident desire to arrange him comfortably for the administration of the stick he was carrying. Satisfied at last, the ex-steward raised his weapon, and for some seconds plied it briskly. Miss Nugent trembled, but sternly repressing sympathy for the sufferer, was pleased that the long arm of justice had at last over-taken him.

      “Let him go now, Sam,” she said; “he's crying.”

      “I'm not,” yelled Master Hardy, frantically.

      “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. He was first shown the flower-beds

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