“Ey’n teach yo to dispute my orders,” cried Bess.  And, catching the attorney by the collar, she began to belabour him soundly with the whip.

“Holloa! ho! what’s the meaning of this?” cried Potts, struggling to get free.  “Assault and battery; ho!”

“Ey’n sawt an batter yo, ay, an baste yo too!” replied Bess, continuing to lay on the whip.

“Why, zounds! this passes a joke,” cried the attorney.  “How desperately strong she is!  I shall be murdered!  Help! help!  The woman must be a witch.”

“A witch!  Ey’n teach yo’ to ca’ me feaw names,” cried the enraged hostess, laying on with greater fury.

“Help! help!” roared Potts.

At this moment Nicholas returned from the stables, and, seeing how matters stood, flew to the attorney’s assistance.

“Come, come, Bess,” he cried, laying hold of her arm, “you’ve given him enough.  What has Master Potts been about?  Not insulting you, I hope?”

“Neaw, ey’d tak keare he didna do that, squoire,” replied the hostess.  “Ey towd him he’d get nowt boh ele here, an’ he made free wi’t wine bottle, so ey brought down t’ whip jist to teach him manners.”

“You teach me! you ignorant and insolent hussy,” cried Potts, furiously; “do you think I’m to be taught manners by an overgrown Lancashire witch like you?  I’ll teach you what it is to assault a gentleman.  I’ll prefer an instant complaint against you to my singular good friend and client, Master Roger, who is in your house, and you’ll soon find whom you’ve got to deal with—­”

“Marry—­kem—­eawt!” exclaimed Bess; “who con it be?  Ey took yo fo’ one o’t grooms, mon.”

“Fire and fury!” exclaimed Potts; “this is intolerable.  Master Nowell shall let you know who I am, woman.”

“Nay, I’ll tell you, Bess,” interposed Nicholas, laughing.  “This little gentleman is a London lawyer, who is going to Rough Lee on business with Master Roger Nowell.  Unluckily, he got pitched into a quagmire in Read Park, and that is the reason why his countenance and habiliments have got begrimed.”

“Eigh! ey thowt he wur i’ a strawnge fettle,” replied Bess; “an so he be a lawyer fro’ Lunnon, eh?  Weel,” she added, laughing, and displaying two ranges of very white teeth, “he’ll remember Bess Whitaker, t’ next time he comes to Pendle Forest.”

“And she’ll remember me,” rejoined Potts.

“Neaw more sawce, mon,” cried Bess, “or ey’n raddle thy boans again.”

“No you won’t, woman,” cried Potts, snatching up his horsewhip, which he had dropped in the previous scuffle, and brandishing it fiercely.  “I dare you to touch me.”

Nicholas was obliged once more to interfere, and as he passed his arms round the hostess’s waist, he thought a kiss might tend to bring matters to a peaceable issue, so he took one.

“Ha’ done wi’ ye, squoire,” cried Bess, who, however, did not look very seriously offended by the liberty.