She sauntered down the hill, insolent, reckless, and dangerous. She had had "tiffs" and tempers often before, but they were passing flurries that left no trace upon character. What had been done to her since she passed this spring on her way to school, less than seven hours ago, could never be forgotten or forgiven. The tinkle of the water into the trough, and the whispering among the grasses as it stole away to lower ground, irritated instead of soothing her. She kicked a stone into the ripples to change the sound, filled the dipper, drained it thirstily, and was about to brim it again, when Mrs. Fogg's wheedling whine made her look around. The old woman was watching her craftily. "What you doin' totin' water, chile, like a nigger? Who set you 'bout that sort o' work?" "The Old Harry!" said Flea, deliberately. Her eyes were black and deep; red fire burned behind and through them. "I told you that he lived up there!"--jerking her head backward in the direction of the school-house. "You'd better keep away, if you don't want to be scorched." The old woman's laugh was like the rattling of pebbles in a gourd. "Lor' bless you, my sweet little lady! I ain't afeard of the Old Harry in broad daylight. They tell me he _do_ treat you mighty mean, and that's a fac'. I wonder yo' pa stands it. I s'pose he daresn't cross the Major. The Major's mighty thick with the teacher. Ah well! the pore was made to be trompled inter the mire of the dus'. Thar's a day a-comin' when they'll have to answer for the deeds done in their bodies." For the first time Flea detected a false ring in the snuffling cant. She started up the bank, lugging the heavy bucket; the water, plashing and trickling over the sides, wet her feet and ankles and angered her still further. Mrs. Fogg overtook her and seized one side of the handle. "Lemme tote it fur you, deary! 'Tain't fitten work fur yo' pretty white han's. He mus' be a nimp o' the Evil One, sure 'nough, to let you be a carrier o' water an' a drawer o' wood, this yere fashion."