"Loafin', war yo'," he roared, making a lunge after Stephen to clutch him by the neck. "I'll l'arn yo'," and he struck out wildly, right and left, the children dodging from under the flail-like arms and scurrying like rabbits to places of momentary safety. That night Stephen received the worst beating of his life. CHAPTER X SUBJUGATION "Take heed, that ye despise not one of these little ones."--Matt. xviii, 10 For days after that terrifying experience the little flock of suffering children went about with white, shocked facets, almost afraid to speak to one another lest they incur another outbreak of rage. Returning, tired and tearful to their loft each night after their pitiful exertions in the field, there was no one to comfort them, none to ease their misery but Mollie. And how Mollie loved them! There was Johnnie, whose right foot was mis-shapen and who always used a little, home-made crutch. And Willie, the tree-climbing wonder! When the ogre was not at home he thrilled them all by his exploits. Little Leathie, just as big as Mollie was when she first came to the farm, and Leon, her twin brother, though he was half a head taller; tongue-tied Bobbie, still grieving over the loss of his red wagon and building blocks; Jimmie, who came to the farm priding himself upon the "fine wallop" he could give with his sturdy fist and who always "made snoots" at the ogre behind the latter's back. All were as dear to Mollie as if they were her own brothers and sisters. They were her babies--her dolls. Cynthy and Stephen were her comrades, near her own age. On them she depended for help and encouragement in whatever she undertook to carry out for the comfort and benefit of all. Five years had passed since she and Stephen had been so treacherously dealt with by those in whom they had placed trust and confidence. Five years during which neither had any idea what had transpired in the world beyond the awful moat which barred their escape from the human fiend to whom they had been consigned. They did not know it was five years. They had no way of computing time. They were too young and untutored when they entered upon their exile to think of checking off days and weeks in any manner that might enable them to know one day of the week from another. Now they could not even tell how old they were. Stephen, after his beating had lapsed into a state of melancholy that was pitiful. In appearance he was little larger than when he came to the farm. But with the failing of his strength physically his tendency to mental concentration had increased. He was thinking, thinking, thinking every minute of the day and even in his disturbed dreams at night. The terrific tension was fast reaching a breaking point. Strange visions came frequently before his eyes. There were moments when he felt dazed and did not quite know where he was. Once he did not know Mollie when she spoke to him.