“Awa’, ye deil’s buckie,” he cried, “an tak’ the little Sawtan wi’ ye! Dinna lat me see yer face again.” “But the lady told me you would give me a job!” said Clare. “I didna tell her I wad gie yer tyke a job! I wad though, gien he wad lat me!” “He’s given you a stiff one!” said the cook, and laughed again. The gardener took no notice of her remark. “Awa’ wi’ ye!” he cried again, yet more wrathfully, “--or--” He raised his hand. Clare looked in his eyes and did not budge. “For shame, John!” expostulated the cook. “Would you strike a child?” “I’m no child, cook!” said Clare. “He can’t hurt me much. I’ve had a good breakfast!” “Lat ’im tak’ awa’ that deevil o’ a tyke o’ his, as I tauld him,” thundered the gardener, “or I’ll mak’ a pulp o’ ’im!” “I’ve had such a breakfast, sir, as I’m bound to give a whole day’s work in return for,” said Clare, looking up at the angry man; “and I won’t stir till I’ve done it. Stolen food on my stomach would turn me sick!” “Gien it did, it wadna be the first time, I reckon!” said the gardener. “It _would_ be the first time!” returned Clare. “You are very rude.--If Abdiel understood Scotch, he would bite you,” he added, as the dog, hearing his master speak angrily, came up, ears erect, and took his place at his side, ready for combat. “Ye’ll hae to tak’ some ither mode o’ payin’ the debt!” said John. “Stick spaud in yird here, ye sall not! You or I maun flit first!” With that he walked slowly away, shouldering his hoe. “Come, Abdiel,” said Clare; “we must go and tell Miss Tempest! Perhaps she’ll find something else for us to do. If she can’t, she’ll forgive us our breakfast, and we’ll be off on the tramp again. I thought we were going to have a day’s rest--I mean work; that’s the rest we want! But this man is an enemy to the poor.” The gardener half turned, as if he would speak, but changed his mind and went his way. “Never mind John!” said the cook, loud enough for John to hear. “He’s an old curmudgeon as can’t sleep o’ nights for quarrellin’ inside him. I’ll go to mis’ess, and you go and sit down in the kitchen till I come to you.” Chapter LIV. THE KITCHEN. Clare went into the kitchen, and sat down. The housemaid came in, and stood for a moment looking at him. Then she asked him what he wanted there. “Cook told me to wait here,” he answered. “Wait for what?” “Till she came to me. She’s gone to speak to Miss Tempest.” “I won’t have that dog here.” “When I had a home,” remarked Clare, “our servant said the cook was queen of the kitchen: I don’t want to be rude, ma’am, but I must do as she told me.” “She never told you to bring that mangy animal in here!” “She knew he would follow me, and she said nothing about him. But he’s not mangy. He hasn’t enough to eat to be mangy. He’s as lean as a dried fish!”