“Judith!  Be careful!” protested her mother.

“Let her alone, Mary.”  John’s blue eyes twinkled as he watched the young girl.  “She’s kept out of a row about as long as she can without choking.”

“Some day, when you least expect it,” said Judith with a little quiver in her voice, “I’m going to run away.”

The others laughed.

“Where to, Jude?” asked her stepfather.

“To some place where folks like me.”

“I like you, Jude!” protested John.

Judith turned to him quickly.  “Why do you thrash me and kick me, then?”

“Kids have to be trained, and you are as hard bitted as Buster,” answered John.

“No such thing!” Judith suddenly rose from the table.  “It’s just bad temper.”

“Judith!  Judith!  Don’t!” pleaded her mother.

“Let her alone!” John’s voice was not angry.  He was eying Judith with inscrutable gaze.

“The next time you even try to kick me, I’m going to run away.”

She paused and suddenly Douglas thought, “Jude knows what real loneliness is.  She’s a very lonely person.”  He leaned forward and watched her with unwonted sympathy.  She swallowed once or twice, and then went on: 

“A woman, a dog, and a horse, you don’t kick any of them.  Peter Knight says so.  Maud Day’s father never kicks her.  He hits her with a belt, maybe, when she doesn’t get his horse quickly enough, and maybe he hits her mother when he’s drinking, but that’s all.”  Judith began to gather up the dishes with trembling fingers.

“How old are you, Judith?” asked John.

“You know.  I was fourteen last spring.”

“By jove, you are almost a woman grown!” John swept her with a look, then rose and went into the living room.

Douglas followed him and, sitting down on the edge of his bed, he unbuckled his spurs.  John settled himself under the lamp with his book, but he did not begin to read at once.

“Yes, Doug; that girl is a woman now and she has any woman in Lost Chief beaten for beauty and nerve.”

Douglas gave his father a startled glance; then he said, with elaborate carelessness, “Rats!  She’s just a fighting kid!”

John chuckled.  “I’m glad you’re still only a sixteen-year-old fool, Doug.”

The boy said nothing more.  He scowled and sat staring at his father long after that strenuous person was absorbed in his book.  Then he kicked off his boots, pulled off his vest and trousers and crawled into bed.  Not long after, Mrs. Spencer came in, glanced at her husband, sighed wearily, then she too went to bed.  Judith finished wiping the dishes, sauntered in to the center table and shortly was absorbed in “Bleak House.”  Mrs. Spencer was snoring quietly and Douglas had not stirred for an hour when he heard his father say in a low voice: 

“Jude, old girl, I’m never going to lay finger on you again.”

Jude gave a little gasp of surprise.  “What’s happened, Dad?”