The man looked fearfully up
and down the road, and saw that it was blocked on every side by
hurrying women and children; and then sinking down by the roadside he
buried his face in his hands and blubbered aloud, while the squirrel,
fully as frightened as he was, nestled close to his bleeding cheek.
Then there was a babel of voices, scolding, complaining and accusing,
but the man sat blubbering and took no heed. Two or three children
were ready to start to fetch the men from the harvest-field, and one
old crone was declaiming with great eloquence on the iniquity of
tramps, when a strange woman suddenly forced her way through the crowd
to the sobbing man and took him by the arm. Her sun-bonnet was so tied
before her face that they could see little of it but two eyes, which
gleamed black and keen like the eyes of a hawk. She raised the man
gently to his feet, and then turned round fiercely upon the ring of
women and children about her.
"Now," she said imperiously, "cease your bawling, and let mun go. The
poor soul a'nt done no harm to you, I'll warrant mun. Let mun go, and
shame upon 'ee."
The man rose to his feet still blubbering, and the squirrel moved back
from his face. Then she saw the blood on his cheek, and her eyes
glowed like fire as she said in a voice that trembled with rage:
"Who's been a drowing stones at my boy?"
"He stole our ale," shouted Tommy Fry boldly, and the rest of the
children took up the chorus--"He stole our ale!" And Tommy Fry ended
the cry with the word, "Thafe.
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