and sob. 'Oh, we are lost in the wood! Please, please, mamma, get out of it. Let us go home.'
'No indeed, Mary, we aren't lost! See, here's the path. We are going to see Mrs Pearson's pussy cat and her turkey.'
'I don't want to. Oh! the wolves will come and eat us up,' and she clung round her mother in real terror.
'Wolves! No, indeed! There are no wolves in England, darling, here or anywhere.'
'Rachel said the wolves would come if I went in here.'
'Then Rachel was very silly. No, there are no wolves. No, Mary, only- see! the little rabbit. Come along, take hold of my hand, we will soon get out. Never mind; God is taking care of us. Come, we will say our hymn as we go on.'
The mother said her verse, and Mary tried to follow, in a voice quivering with sobs. Those imaginary wolves were a far greater alarm and trouble to her than the real riot at her father's farm. She clung round her mother's gown, and there was no pacifying her but by taking her up in arms.
'Let me take her, ma'am,' said Tirzah Todd, making over the sleeping Edmund to his mother. 'Come, little lady, I'll carry you so nice.'
'No, no! Go away, ugly woman,' cried Mary ungratefully, flapping at her with her hands in terror at the brown face and big black eyes.
'Oh, naughty, naughty Mary,' sighed the mother, 'when Tirzah is so good, and wants to help you! Don't be a naughty child!'
But the word naughty provoked such a fit of crying that there was nothing for it but for Mrs Carbonel to pick the child up and struggle on as best she could, soothing her terror at the narrow paths and the unknown way, and the mysterious alarm of the woodlands, as well, perhaps, as the undefined sense of other people's dread and agitation. However, the crying was quiet now, and the sounds of tumult at the farm were stifled by the trees, so that after a time-which seemed terribly long-the party emerged into an open meadow, whence they could see the gate leading to the high road, and beyond that the roof of Mrs Pearson's house.
But something else was to be seen far up the road. There was the flash of the sun from helmets! The Yeomanry were coming!
'There's papa!' cried Mrs Carbonel. 'Papa in his pretty silver dress. Run on, run on, Mary, and see him.'
Mary was let down, still drawing long sobs as she half ran, half toddled on, allowing herself to be pulled by Tirzah Todd's free hand, while her mother sped on to the gate, just in time for the astonished greeting of one of the little troop.
'Mrs Carbonel! What?'
And the next moment her husband was off his horse and by her side with anxious inquiries.
'Yes, yes, dear Edmund! We are all safe. Good Tirzah came to warn us. Make haste! They are at the farm. We shall be at Mrs Pearson's. She,' (pointing to Tirzah) 'sent to fetch Sophy from school. She'll be there. Here are the children all safe.'
'Papa, papa,' cried little Mary, feeling his silver-laced collar, and stroking his face as he kissed her.
And from that time she was comforted though he had to leave her again at once. She had felt a father's arm.
'Tirzah Todd!' exclaimed Captain Carbonel, 'I shall never forget what you have done for us. Never!'
Tirzah curtsied, but said, 'You'll be good to my man, sir?'
It was but a moment's halt ere Captain Carbonel rode on to overtake the rest of the troop, who, on hearing that the outrage was really taking place, were riding on rapidly.
Mrs Carbonel had not far to go before reaching the hospitable farm, where Mrs Pearson came out to receive her with many a 'Dear, dear!' and 'Dear heart!' and entreaty that she and the dear children would make themselves at home.
But Sophy was not there, and had not been heard of, and Mrs Carbonel, in her anxiety, could not rest on the sofa in the parlour, after she had persuaded little Mary into eating her long-delayed dinner of some mutton hastily minced for her, and had seen her safely asleep and cuddling a kitten. Mrs Pearson was only too happy to have the baby to occupy her long-disused wicker cradle, and Tirzah had rushed off to the scene of action as soon as she had seen the lady safely housed.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE MACHINE.
'In bursts of outrage spread your judgment wide,
And to your wrath cry out, `Be thou our guide.''
Sophy was endeavouring to make the children remember who Joseph was, and thinking them unusually stupid, idle, and talkative, when, without ceremony, the door was banged open, and in tramped Hoglah Todd, with the baby in her arms, her sun-bonnet on her neck, and her black hair sticking wildly out. 'Please, ma'am,' she began, 'Jack Swing is up a-breaking the machine, and mother says you are to go to Farmer Pearson's to be safe out of the way!'
'Hoggie Todd,' began Mrs Thorpe, 'that's not the way to come into school,' but she could not finish, for voices broke out above the regulation school hush: 'Yes, yes, father said,' and 'Our Jem said,' and it ended in 'Jack Swing's a-coming to break up the machine.' Only one or two said, 'Mother said as how it was a shame, and they'd get into trouble.'
'Your mother sent you?' said Sophy to Hoglah.
'Yes, ma'am. She's gone up herself to tell madam, and take she to Pearson's, and her said you'd better go there, back ways, or else stay here with governess till 'twas quieted down.'
'Hark! They are holloaing.'
Strange sounds were in fact to be heard, and the children, losing all sense of discipline, made a rush to snatch hats and bonnets, and poured out in a throng, tumbling over one another, Hoglah among the foremost. Mrs Thorpe, much terrified, began to clasp her hands and say, 'Oh dear! oh dear, the wicked, ungrateful men, that they should do such things. Oh! Miss Sophy, you will stay here, won't you?'
'No, I must go and see after my sister and the children,' said Sophy, already at the door.
'But they'll be at Mr Pearson's. The girl said so. Oh, stay, ma'am! Don't venture. Pray, pray-'
But Sophy had the door open, and with 'I can't. Thank you, no, I can't.'
There were the confused sounds of howling and singing on the top of the hill. Betsy Seddon, at her cottage door, called out, 'Don't go up there, miss; it's no place for the likes of you!' but Sophy only answered, 'My sister,' and dashed on.
She could get into a field of Edmund's by scrambling over a difficult gate, and, impelled by the sight of some rough-looking men slouching along, she got over it-she hardly knew how-and, after crossing it, came upon all the cows, pigs, and horses, with Pucklechurch presiding over them. He, too, said, 'Doan't ye go up there, Miss Sophy. Them mischievous chaps will be after them pigs, fools as they be, so I brought the poor dumb things out of the way of them, and you'd better be shut of it too, miss.'
'But, my sister, Master Pucklechurch! I must see to her.'
'She'll be safe enow, miss. They don't lift a hand to folks, as I've heard, but I'll do my duty by the beastises.'
He certainly seemed more bent on his duty to the 'beastises' than that to his wife or his master's wife; and yet, when Sophy proved deaf to all his persuasions, he muttered, 'Wilful must to water, and Wilful must drink. But, ah! yon beastises be safe enow, poor dumb things, so I'll e'en go after the maid, to see as her runs into no harm. She be a fine, spirity maid whatsome'er.'
So on he plodded, in the rear of Sophy, who, with eager foot, had crossed the sloping home-field, and gained the straw yard, all deserted now except by the fowls. The red game cock was scratching and crowing there, as if the rabble rout were not plainly to be seen straggling along the drive.
Still there was time for Sophy to fly to the house, where, at the door, she met Mrs Pucklechurch.
'Bless my soul and honour, Miss Sophy. You here! The mistress, she's gone with the children to Mr Pearson's, and you'll be in time to catch her up if you look sharp enough.'
'I shall not run away. Some one ought to try to protect my brother's property.'
'Now, don't 'ee, don't 'ee, Miss Sophy. You'll do no good with that lot, and only get hurt yourself.'
