Mr. Farnshaw jerked his arm aside to avoid her touch and spilled half the pail of swill on the ground. He lurched over to the other side to right the pail; the bucket at his feet upset, pouring dishwater, milk, and potato peelings over his heavy plow-shoes as it went. To avoid the onrush of the greasy tide he sprang back, slipped in its oily overflow, and fell, the pail he held pouring its contents over him as he went. His gray whiskers, the bottom of his jersey, his very ears dripped swill as he arose. It was disconcertingly funny, and the girl helped him to his feet, laughing in spite of every effort to restrain herself. To lose his temper was bad enough, but to be made ridiculous and be laughed at at the same time was more than the man could endure. He was insane with fury. There was such a look of malignity on his face as he jerked away and turned to face her that the girl, suddenly sobered, dodged and started to run. Her long hair trailed across his arm, and lost to every consideration but that of satisfying his temper, he caught it as she passed and swinging the osage stick to which he still clung, shouted: "Damn you! This is th' kind of friends I'll be." He struck with all his force, jerking her hair at the same time. Thrown from her feet, the full weight of the girl's body came on her hair. It hurt cruelly. She veered around on her knees and caught the now tangled hair with both hands to ease the strain. He grabbed her by one arm and rained blows on her thinly clad shoulders which hissed in tune with the man's temper as they fell. "I'll be friends with you!" he shrieked. "I'll send you t' that young smartie with some marks on you that'll show 'im what kind of a wife he's gettin'. You told your ma t' leave me! Maybe You'll be leavin' him next. Tell 'im I said so, will you?" Cut by the flexible withe, which left welts like ribbons on her young shoulders, the girl was unable to endure more passively, and struggled to free herself. The partially successful opposition infuriated the man. He was not accustomed to defence. His fury knew no restraint. He rained the blows harder than ever and the girl finally caught the whip itself. Catching the limber end desperately, she jerked it sidewise; unconsciously, she had deflected her father's hand so that it struck her head just below the ear. It stretched her senseless at his feet. Josiah Farnshaw was aghast. With a gulping cry of alarm and pity, he stooped to lift his unconscious daughter. He had not intended to do so brutal a thing. "Now look what you've gone an' done!" Mrs. Farnshaw had watched Elizabeth go to him with something of prayer in her heart. She knew the girl's intention was to be square about the apology and she had strained every nerve to watch the encounter. At the first blow she had started to the scene of action. "I think you might have----" The man's relenting mood vanished. He dropped the limp body and rose to his full height.