"No: it would have been bad work if you had gone whipping about, and irritating the two little holes in your arm. Well, how is it?"

"Oh, quite well now," said the lad, as he carefully hooked the bees in his cap, and twisted the hair to which they were attached under the band; "and I've come to say how thankful I am for all you have done for me, and--"

"That's enough, my dear boy," cried the old man warmly; "look the rest.

And now about those wild men of the mountains; have you heard how they are going on?"

"A little; not much."

"Ah, you don't know, or you would not talk about a little. Why, Ralph, boy, the country round is full of complaints of their doings. About a dozen great idle scoundrels are living up at Ergles in that cave, laying the people for miles round under contribution; picking the fat of the land, and committing outrage after outrage. Only during the past week, I've had to bind up two broken heads, and strap up a broken shoulder, where the poor fellows had made a brave fight for it--one man against seven or eight."

"You don't mean that!" cried Ralph flushing.

"But I do, boy. They are growing worse and worse, and making themselves a scourge to the country."

"I did not know it was so bad."

"No, I suppose not, sir; and here are you people living safely in your castles, with plenty of stout men about you, ready to arm and defend you behind your walls and gates. But if the scoundrels came and robbed you, perhaps you would do something. Don't you think you ought to begin?"

"Yes, that I do," cried Ralph quickly. "My father has been talking about it for some time."

"Yes; and so has Sir Edward Eden been talking about it for some time; but neither of them does anything, and the wasps' nest thrives; all the best things in the country are carried up there--the wasps robbing the bees; and I, though I am a man of peace, say that it is the duty of you gentlemen to burn that wasps' nest out before anything worse is done, for the ruffians grow more bold and daring every day, feeling, I suppose, that they can do these things with impunity."

"Father shall do something at once," cried the lad.

"That's right," cried the old man, patting his late patient on the shoulder. "I don't want blood shed, and I hardly think any of your people would come to much harm, for, like most scoundrels of their kind, I believe the enemy would prove miserable cowards."

"They have proved to be so," cried Ralph warmly. "Father must act now."

"I'll tell you what he ought to do, boy," said the old man, grasping his visitor by the arm. "Of course he need not make friends, but he ought to go or send to the Black Tor, and ask Sir Edward to head so many men, your father doing the same; and then they could march together, and rout out the scoundrels."

"Yes, it would be easy enough then," said Ralph sadly; "but I know my father too well: he would not do that."

"No," said the old man, "he would not do that."

The tone in which this was said roused the lad's indignation.

"Well," he said hotly, "do you think this Sir Edward Eden would come and ask my father to join him?"

"No, boy, I do not," replied the old man, "for I said something of this kind to Mark Eden only yesterday, when I was fishing up that way, and he spoke just in the same way as you do."

"You saw him yesterday?" said Ralph eagerly. "How is he?"

"What's that to do with you?" said the old man rather roughly. "You don't want to know how your enemy is. But all the same, his leg is nearly well. He limps a little: that is all. Going?"

"Yes," said Ralph hurriedly; "I must be off now. I am going on about a mile, and coming back this way. Perhaps I shall see you then."

"Going about a mile? Not going to see old Mother Garth?"

"Yes: to take her a present from my sister. Nick told her about his mother being robbed."

"And your sister wants to make it up to her. Poor old woman! she is in great trouble, but she will not hear of leaving her cottage up there on the moor; and she says that next time the men come to rob her, they'll find she has two pots of boiling water ready for them."

Ralph laughed, and went off, crossed the river at the shallows, and climbed the ascent to where the old woman lived in her rough stone cot, in its patch of garden; and as soon as he had given his present, with an addition from his own purse, and the fierce old lady had secured it in her pocket, she turned upon him angrily, upbraiding him and his for allowing such outrages to be committed.

"But there," she cried, when quite out of breath, "it's of no use to speak: there are no men now, and no boys. When I was young, they'd have routed out those wretches and hung them before they knew where they were. But only let them come here again, and they shall know what boiling water is."

"They'll be well punished before long," said Ralph, as soon as he could get in a word.

"I don't believe it," cried the old woman. "Don't tell me! I want to know what my boy, Nick, is about for not making his master do something.

It's shameful. But I see how it is: I shall have to go and do it myself."

Ralph was not sorry to get away from the ungracious old dame, who stood at her door, shouting messages to his father about his duty and her intentions, till the lad was out of sight, when he could not help seeing the comic side of the matter, and wondered, laughingly, what his father would say to her if she kept her word, and came up to the castle to ask him why he and her son, Nick, did not go and punish those wicked men for coming and stealing her bag of meal.

"I should like to be there," said Ralph, half-aloud, as he tramped on: and then his thoughts took a serious turn again, and he began to ponder upon the possibilities of his father and their men attacking Captain Purlrose, and the chances of success.

"It ought to be done," thought Ralph, as he began to climb the path leading to the shelf upon which Master Rayburn's cottage was built, half-a-mile farther on, "so as to take them by surprise when part of the men are away. It can hardly be called cowardly with men like them.

Then we could hide in the cavern, and wait till the rest came back, and take them prisoners too. What's that?"

He listened, and made out the sound of a horse galloping, wondering the while who it could be. Then his interest increased, for the track was narrow and stony, and ran along like a shelf beside the cliff, with a steep descent to the river--altogether about as dangerous a place for a canter as any one could choose. But he recalled immediately how sure-footed the ponies of the district were, and thought no more of it for a few moments. Then his face flushed as he remembered how Mark Eden had galloped after him. Would it be he, and if so, now they were going to meet again, would it be upon inimical terms, and with drawn swords?

His heart began to beat faster, and the next minute it was beating faster still, for he caught sight, at a curve of the track, of the pony and its burden, not Mark Eden, but a lady; and then his heart seemed to stand still in his horror at seeing that she had lost control of the spirited little animal, which was tearing along as hard as he could go.

The next minute it was nearly abreast of Ralph, who, without thinking of the consequences of such an act, leaped at the rein, caught it, and was dragged along some twenty yards, before, snorting and trembling, the little animal, which he knew as Mark Eden's, stopped short, and began to rear.

"Quick!" shouted the lad. "I can't hold him: try and slip off."

His words were heard by the frightened rider, but there was little need to tell her to slip off, for the pony reared again, nearly upright, the rider glided from the saddle over the animal's haunches, and fell amongst the bushes by the track, while Ralph was dragged onward again.

It all occurred in a few moments, the pony stopped, reared again, made another bound, dropped off the track, and, as Ralph loosed his hold, rolled over and over down the steep slope right into the river with a tremendous splash, which cooled it on the instant; and it regained its feet, scrambled actively ash.o.r.e, gave itself a shake, and then began to graze, as if nothing was the matter.

"Mark Eden's sister," thought Ralph, as he hurriedly climbed back to the track, where, looking wild and scared, Mary Eden had just regained her feet, and was standing trembling.

"Are you hurt?" he cried aloud.

"Yes, dreadfully. No: I don't think so. Only scratched," she replied, half-crying. "I couldn't stop him. He hasn't been out lately. He ran away with me. What shall I do?" she sobbed now. "Mark will be so angry. Is his pony much hurt?"

"Oh, never mind the pony," cried Ralph, taking her hand. "Here, let me help you to Master Rayburn's."

"But I do mind about the pony," cried the girl angrily. "It doesn't matter about me. Do you think he has broken his knees, or his legs?"

"It does not seem like it," said Ralph, smiling. "Look, he is browsing on the thick gra.s.s down there."

"Is--is my face much scratched?"

"Hardly at all," said Ralph.

"Then thank you so for stopping him; I was so frightened. Ah, look!

there's Master Rayburn."