“I—­am—­Faith—­Meredith,” she said, in little more than a whisper.

“Meredith, hey?  One of the parson’s youngsters, hey?  I’ve heard of you—­I’ve heard of you!  Riding on pigs and breaking the Sabbath!  A nice lot!  What do you want here, hey?  What do you want of the old pagan, hey? I don’t ask favours of parsons—­and I don’t give any.  What do you want, I say?”

Faith wished herself a thousand miles away.  She stammered out her thought in its naked simplicity.

“I came—­to ask you—­to go to church—­and pay—­to the salary.”

Norman glared at her.  Then he burst forth again.

“You impudent hussy—­you!  Who put you up to it, jade?  Who put you up to it?”

“Nobody,” said poor Faith.

“That’s a lie.  Don’t lie to me!  Who sent you here?  It wasn’t your father—­he hasn’t the smeddum of a flea—­but he wouldn’t send you to do what he dassn’t do himself.  I suppose it was some of them confounded old maids at the Glen, was it—­was it, hey?”

“No—­I—­I just came myself.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” shouted Norman.

“No—­I thought you were a gentleman,” said Faith faintly, and certainly without any thought of being sarcastic.

Norman bounced up.

“Mind your own business.  I don’t want to hear another word from you.  If you wasn’t such a kid I’d teach you to interfere in what doesn’t concern you.  When I want parsons or pill-dosers I’ll send for them.  Till I do I’ll have no truck with them.  Do you understand?  Now, get out, cheese-face.”

Faith got out.  She stumbled blindly down the steps, out of the yard gate and into the lane.  Half way up the lane her daze of fear passed away and a reaction of tingling anger possessed her.  By the time she reached the end of the lane she was in such a furious temper as she had never experienced before.  Norman Douglas’ insults burned in her soul, kindling a scorching flame.  Go home!  Not she!  She would go straight back and tell that old ogre just what she thought of him—­she would show him—­oh, wouldn’t she!  Cheese-face, indeed!

Unhesitatingly she turned and walked back.  The veranda was deserted and the kitchen door shut.  Faith opened the door without knocking, and went in.  Norman Douglas had just sat down at the supper table, but he still held his newspaper.  Faith walked inflexibly across the room, caught the paper from his hand, flung it on the floor and stamped on it.  Then she faced him, with her flashing eyes and scarlet cheeks.  She was such a handsome young fury that Norman Douglas hardly recognized her.

“What’s brought you back?” he growled, but more in bewilderment than rage.

Unquailingly she glared back into the angry eyes against which so few people could hold their own.