So nice did she look in her black that Earlscombe voted her a mere town lady, and even at a penny a week hesitated to send its children to her. Indeed it was currently reported that her school was part of a deep and nefarious scheme of the gentlefolks for reducing the poor-rates by enticing the children, and then shipping them off to foreign parts from Bristol. But the great crisis was one unlucky summer evening when Emily and I were out with the donkey, and Griffith, just come home from Oxford, was airing the new acquisition of a handsome black retriever. Close by the old chapel, a black cat was leisurely crossing the road. At her dashed Nero, stimulated perhaps by an almost involuntary scss—scss—from his master, if not from Amos and me. The cat flew up a low wall, and stood at bay on the top on tiptoe, with bristling tail, arched back, and fiery eyes, while the dog danced round in agony on his hind legs, barking furiously, and almost reaching her. Female sympathy ever goes to the cat, and Emily screamed out in the fear that he would seize her, or even that Griff might aid him. Perhaps Amos would have done so, if left to himself; but Griff, who saw the cat was safe, could not help egging on his dog’s impotent rage, when in the midst, out flew pussy’s mistress, Dame Dearlove herself, broomstick in hand, using language as vituperative as the cat’s, and more intelligible. She was about to strike the dog—indeed I fancy she did, for there was a howl, and Griff sprang to his defence with—‘Don’t hurt my dog, I say! He hasn’t touched the brute! She can take care of herself. Here, there’s half-a-crown for the fright,’ as the cat sprang down within the wall, and Nero slunk behind him. But Dame Dearlove was not so easily appeased. Her blood was up after our long series of offences, and she broke into a regular tirade of abuse. ‘That’s the way with you fine folk, thinking you can tread down poor people like the dirt under your feet, and insult ’em when you’ve taken the bread out of the mouths of them that were here before you. Passons and ladies a meddin’ where no one ever set a foot before! Ay, ay, but ye’ll all be down before long.’ Griff signed to us to go on, and thundered out on her to take care what she was about and not be abusive; but this brought a fresh volley on him, heralded by a derisive laugh. ‘Ha! ha! fine talking for the likes of you, Winslows that you are. But there’s a curse on you all! The poor lady as was murdered won’t let you be! Why, there’s one of you, poor humpy object—’ At this savage attack on me, Griff waxed furious, and shouted at her to hold her confounded tongue, but this only diverted the attack on himself. ‘And as for you—fine chap as ye think yourself, swaggering and swearing at poor folk, and setting your dog at them—your time’s coming. Look out for yourself. It’s well known as how the curse is on the first-born. The Lady Margaret don’t let none of ’em live to come after his father.’