Miss Falconer, with the large basket full, had been visiting a widow, whose only son had met with a severe accident, while engaged in his ordinary labor. The widow had some claim on the household of Falcon's Craig--some one of those most pleasant and beneficial links of mutual good-will and service which unite country neighborhoods so healthfully, subsisted between the poor family and the great one, and as, on any grand occasion at Falcon's Craig, the brisk services of Tibbie Hewit, the hapless young mason's mother, would have been rendered heartily and at once, so the accident was no sooner reported to Miss Falconer, then she set out with her share of the mutual kindliness. We cannot tell what was in the basket, but Tibbie Hewit's "press" was very much better filled when it went away empty, than when Miss Falconer entered her cottage. "What a pity I have not my whip," said Marjory, as, drawing Anne's arm within her own, they passed on together. "You should have seen that cowardly fellow who stopped little Alice! what a grimace he made when he felt the lash about his shoulders! I say, Anne,"--Miss Falconer's voice sank lower--"did you see them hiding in the wood?" "Who, Marjory?" "Oh! that ape with the hair about his face, and some more of them. I should not have pulled down their barricade, I dare say, if I had not seen them. But you do not think I would retreat for _them_?" "I do think, indeed," said Anne, looking hastily round, "that retreat would be by far our most dignified plan. Suppose they come down to us, Marjory, and we, who call ourselves gentlewomen, get involved in a squabble with a set of impertinent young men. I do think we are subjecting ourselves to quite unnecessary humiliation." A violent flush covered Marjory Falconer's face--one of those overpowering rebounds of the strained delicacy and womanliness which revenged her _escapades_ so painfully--the burning color might have furnished a hundred fluttering blushes for little Alice Atoun. But still she had no idea of yielding. "Perhaps you are right, Anne. I did not think of that; but at least we must go on now. And think what an insult it is!--to all of us--to the whole country. We cannot suffer it, you know. Mrs. Catherine, I am sure, will take steps immediately." "Very likely," said Anne. Anne was revolving the possibility of crossing the Oran by the stepping-stones, which were about a quarter of a mile along, and so escaping the collision she dreaded.