"We've got him, we're going to drown him."
"What is it?" feebly enquired the father, putting his hands to his ears.
"We'll hold him to the fire and pop his little eyes."
"No, they're too small."
"Into the water-butt with him!"
A yell.
"He's bitten me. Drown him!"
"What is it?" shouted the mother.
"A bat. Tommy found him in the roof. We're going to put him in the butt, and see if he can swim."
The whole torrent swept and swirled round Mehalah, and carried her to the front door.
The curate stole out after her.
"My good girl," he whispered, "botch it up. Marry, Most marriages hereabouts are botches."
"Edward!" shouted Mrs. Rabbit, "come in, no sneaking outside after lasses. Come back at once. Always wanting a last word with suspicious characters."
"Marry!" was the pastor's last word, as he was drawn back by two soapy hands applied to his coat tails, and the door was slammed.
Mehalah walked away fast from the yelping throng of children congregated about the water-butt, watching the struggles of the expiring bat. She took the road before her, and saw that it led to Peldon, the leaning tower of which stood on a hill that had formed the northern horizon from the Ray. There was a nice farm by the roadside, and she went there, and was met with excuses. The time was not one when a girl could be engaged. There was no work to be done in the winter. The early spring was coming on, she urged, and she would labour in the fields like a man. Then the sick mother was mentioned as an insuperable objection. "We can't have any old weakly person here on the premises," said the farmer's wife. "You see if she was to die, you've no money, and we should be put to the expense of the burying; anyhow there'd be the inconvenience of a corpse in the house."
Mehalah went on; and now a hope dawned in her. Another two miles would bring her to the Rose, the old inn that stood not far from the Strood. There she was known,
