“See what you get by coming into our garden,” she said.

The victim made no reply.  He was writhing strenuously in order to frustrate Mr. Wilks’s evident desire to arrange him comfortably for the administration of the stick he was carrying.  Satisfied at last, the ex-steward raised his weapon, and for some seconds plied it briskly.  Miss Nugent trembled, but sternly repressing sympathy for the sufferer, was pleased that the long arm of justice had at last over-taken him.

“Let him go now, Sam,” she said; “he’s crying.”

“I’m not,” yelled Master Hardy, frantically.

“I can see the tears,” declared Miss Nugent, bending.

Mr. Wilks plied the rod again until his victim, with a sudden turn, fetched him a violent kick on the shin and broke loose.  The ex-steward set off in pursuit, somewhat handicapped by the fact that he dare not go over flower-beds, whilst Master Hardy was singularly free from such prejudices.  Miss Nugent ran to the side-entrance to cut off his retreat.  She was willing for him to be released, but not to escape, and so it fell out that the boy, dodging beneath Mr. Wilks’s outspread arms, charged blindly up the side-entrance and bowled the young lady over.

There was a shrill squeal, a flutter of white, and a neat pair of button boots waving in the air.  Then Miss Nugent, sobbing piteously, rose from the puddle into which she had fallen and surveyed her garments.  Mr. Wilks surveyed them, too, and a very cursory glance was sufficient to show him that the case was beyond his powers.  He took the outraged damsel by the hand, and led her, howling lustily, in to the horrified Ann.

“My word,” said she, gasping.  “Look at your gloves!  Look at your frock!”

But Miss Nugent was looking at her knees.  There was only a slight redness about the left, but from the right a piece of skin was indubitably missing.  This knee she gave Ann instructions to foment with fair water of a comfortable temperature, indulging in satisfied prognostications as to the fate of Master Hardy when her father should see the damage.

The news, when the captain came home, was broken to him by degrees.  He was first shown the flower-beds by Ann, then Mrs. Kingdom brought in various soiled garments, and at the psychological moment his daughter bared her knees.

“What will you do to him, father?” she inquired.

The captain ignored the question in favour of a few remarks on the subject of his daughter’s behaviour, coupled with stern inquiries as to where she learnt such tricks.  In reply Miss Nugent sheltered herself behind a list which contained the names of all the young gentlemen who attended her kindergarten class and many of the young ladies, and again inquired as to the fate of her assailant.

Jack came in soon after, and the indefatigable Miss Nugent produced her knees again.  She had to describe the injury to the left, but the right spoke for itself.  Jack gazed at it with indignation, and then, without waiting for his tea, put on his cap and sallied out again.