"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 demand. "Where is he?"

"Thy horse!" he echoed. "Which is thy horse then?"

"Rake is my horse," she answered--"the big black one. The man took him again;" and she ripped out a few more oaths and unchaste expressions, threatening what she would do for the man in question; the which delighted him more than ever. "Rake is my horse," she ended. "None else shall ride him."

"None else?" cried he. "Thou canst not ride him, baggage!"