“I know I was awful bad, Mr. Marshall, and maybe you feel as if you ought to lick me.”

“Put your little sister to bed,” said Marshall gravely, “and then we’ll see.”

There was silence in the room for a moment after Lydia left it, then Amos said, “I’ll be glad to do anything I can, Marshall.”

“Neither of you’ll lay a finger on Lydia,” interrupted Lizzie.  “If you want to lick any one, go lick Elviry Marshall, the fool!  Why, I knew her when she was my niece’s hired girl and you, Dave Marshall, was selling cans of tomatoes over a counter.  And she’s bringing that young one up to be a silly little fool.  Mark my words, she’ll be the prey of the first fortune-hunter that comes along.”

To Amos’s surprise, Marshall only scowled at Lizzie, who now began to remove the supper dishes, talking in a whisper to herself.  She paused once in front of Marshall with the teapot in one hand and the milk pitcher in the other.

“Coming and going with your nose in the air, Dave, I suppose you never notice Lydia, but you’ve had a good look at her to-night, and mind well what I mean when I say you know as well as I that children like Lydia are rare and that your young one ought to consider it a privilege to be pulled out of the water by her.”

Old Lizzie pounded out of the room and there was a clatter of dishes that ably expressed her frame of mind.  Above the clatter and down from the children’s bedroom floated Lydia’s little contralto lilt: 

  “Wreathe me no gaudy chaplet;
  Make it from simple flowers
  Plucked from the lowly valley
  After the summer showers.”

Neither Amos nor his caller spoke.  In a few minutes Lydia’s step sounded on the stairs.  The last of the sunset glow caught her hair, and the fine set of her head on her square little shoulders was never more pronounced than as she walked slowly toward Dave Marshall.

“I never had a licking,” she said, “but I guess I deserve one and so you’d better do it and get it done, Mr. Marshall.”

CHAPTER III

THE COTTAGE

“The young pine knows the secrets of the ground.  The old pine knows the stars.”—­The Murmuring Pine.

Marshall cleared his throat and reaching out, took Lydia by the arm and pulled her toward him.  He could feel her muscles stiffen under his touch.  The bright red color left her cheeks.

“I wouldn’t think much of your father, my child,” he said, huskily, “if he let me whip you, even if I wanted to.”

Lydia took a quick look up into his face.  Then she gave a little gasping sigh, her lips quivered and she leaned against his knee.

“Look here, Lydia,” said Dave Marshall, “this is to be your punishment.  I want you and Kent to teach Margery how to swim and how to get dirty, see?  Let her play with you ‘common kids,’ will you?”

“Will her mother let her?” asked Lydia.