After that exposure of weakness the statue could be assumed no more. So then she would stand timidly aloof out of tongue-shot, till her young tyrants' pitchers were all filled, and they gone; and then creep up with hers. And one day she waited so long that the fount had ceased to flow. So the next day she was obliged to face the phalanx, or her house go dry. She drew near slowly, but with the less tremor, that she saw a man at the well talking to them. He would distract their attention, and besides, they would keep their foul tongues quiet if only to blind the male to their real character. This conjecture, though shrewd, was erroneous. They could not all flirt with that one man; so the outsiders indemnified themselves by talking at her the very moment she came up. “Any news from foreign parts, Jacqueline?” “None for me, Martha. My lad goes no farther from me than the town wall.” “I can't say as much,” says a third. “But if he goes t' Italy I have got another ready to take the fool's place.” “He'll not go thither, lass. They go not so far till they are sick of us that bide in Holland.” Surprise and indignation, and the presence of a man, gave Margaret a moment's fighting courage. “Oh, flout me not, and show your ill nature before the very soldier. In Heaven's name, what ill did I ever to ye? what harsh word cast back, for all you have flung on me, a desolate stranger in your cruel town, that ye flout me for my bereavement and my poor lad's most unwilling banishment? Hearts of flesh would surely pity us both, for that ye cast in my teeth these many days, ye brows of brass, ye bosoms of stone.” They stared at this novelty, resistance; and ere they could recover and make mincement of her, she put her pitcher quietly down, and threw her coarse apron over her head, and stood there grieving, her short-lived spirit oozing fast. “Hallo!” cried the soldier, “why, what is your ill?” She made no reply. But a little girl, who had long secretly hated the big ones, squeaked out, “They did flout her, they are aye flouting her; she may not come nigh the fountain for fear o' them, and 'tis a black shame.” “Who spoke to her! Not I for one.” “Nor I. I would not bemean myself so far.” The man laughed heartily at this display of dignity. “Come, wife,” said he, “never lower thy flag to such light skirmishers as these. Hast a tongue i' thy head as well as they.” “Alack, good soldier, I was not bred to bandy foul terms.” “Well, but hast a better arm than these. Why not take 'em by twos across thy knee, and skelp 'em till they cry Meculpee?” “Nay, I would not hurt their bodies for all their cruel hearts.”