Philip Winwood | Page 6

and I
knew that the novelty of his adoration would make her oblivious of my
existence for at least a week to come. But I bore him no malice, and as
the Faringfields turned toward the rear veranda of the house, I said:
"Come and play with me whenever you like. That's where I live, next
door. My name is Herbert Russell, but they call me Bert, for short."
"Thank you," said Winwood, and was just about to go down the garden
walk between Madge and little Tom, when the whole party was stopped
by a faint boo-hooing, in a soft and timid voice, a short distance up the
street.

"'Tis Fanny," cried Mrs. Faringfield, affrightedly, and ran out from the
garden to the street.
"Ned has been bullying her," said Madge, anger suddenly firing her
pretty face. And she, too, was in the street in a moment, followed by all
of us, Philip Winwood joining with a ready boyish curiosity and
interest in what concerned his new acquaintances.
Sure enough, it was Fanny Faringfield, Madge's younger sister, coming
along the street, her knuckles in her eyes, the tears streaming down her
face; and behind her, with his fists in his coat pockets, and his cruel,
sneering laugh on his bold, handsome face, came Ned, the eldest of the
four Faringfield young ones. He and Fanny were returning from a
children's afternoon tea-party at the Wilmots' house in William Street,
from which entertainment Madge had stayed away because she had had
another quarrel with Ned, whom she, with her self-love and high spirit,
had early learned to hate for his hectoring and domineering nature. I
shared Madge's feeling there, and was usually at daggers drawn with
Ned Faringfield; for I never would take any man's browbeating.
Doubtless my own quickness of temper was somewhat to blame. I
know that it got me into many fights, and had, in fact, kept me too from
that afternoon's tea, I being then not on speaking terms with one of the
Wilmot boys. As for Madge's detestation of Ned, she made up for it by
her love of little Tom, who then and always deserved it. Tom was a true,
kind, honest, manly fellow, from his cradle to that sad night outside the
Kingsbridge tavern. Madge loved Fanny too, but less wholly. As for
Fanny, dear girl, she loved them all, even Ned, to whom she rendered
homage and obedience; and to save whom from their father's hard
wrath, she now, at sight of us all issuing from the gateway, suddenly
stopped crying and tried to look as if nothing were the matter.
Ned, seeing his father, paled and hesitated; but the next moment came
swaggering on, his face showing a curious succession of fear, defiance,
cringing, and a crafty hope of lying out of his offence.
It was, of course, the very thing Fanny did to shield him, that certainly
betrayed him; and when I knew from her sudden change of conduct that
he was indeed to blame, I would gladly have attacked him, despite that

he was twelve years old and I but ten. But I dared not move in the
presence of our elders, and moreover I saw at once Ned's father would
deal with him to our complete satisfaction.
"Go to your room, sir," said Mr. Faringfield, in his sternest tone,
looking his anger out of eyes as hard as steel. This meant for Master
Ned no supper, and probably much worse.
"Please, sir, I didn't do anything," answered Ned, with ill-feigned
surprise. "She fell and hurt her arm."
Fanny did not deny this, but she was no liar, and could not confirm it.
So she looked to the ground, and clasped her left wrist with her right
hand. But in this latter movement she again exposed her brother by the
very means she took to protect him; for quick-seeing Madge, observing
the action, gently but firmly unclasped the younger sister's hand, and so
disclosed the telltale marks of Ned's fingers upon the delicate wrist, by
squeezing or wrenching which that tyrant had evinced his brotherly
superiority.
At sight of this, Mrs. Faringfield gave a low cry of horror and maternal
pity, and fell to caressing the bruised wrist; and Madge, raising her arm
girl-wise, began to rain blows on her brother, which fell wherever they
might, but where none of them could hurt. Her father, without
reproving her, drew her quietly back, and with a countenance a shade
darker than before, pointed out the way for Ned toward the veranda
leading to the rear hall-door.
With a vindictive look, and pouting lips, Ned turned his steps down the
walk. Just then he noticed Philip Winwood, who had viewed every
detail of the scene with wonder, and who now regarded Ned with