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238 “The pony is in the yard,” she replied, “and Phoenix is shut in there. He’s bitten--and so is Charlie. I was going to tell you all about it; but you are in a bad temper, and don’t deserve to hear.” I picked up her hat, and approached to reinstate it; but perceiving that the people of the house took her part, she commenced capering round the room; and on my giving chase, ran like a mouse over and under and behind the furniture, rendering it ridiculous for me to pursue. Hareton and the woman laughed, and she joined them, and waxed more impertinent still; till I cried, in great irritation: “Well, Miss Cathy, if you were aware whose house this is, you’d be glad enough to get out.” “It’s your father’s, isn’t it?” she said, turning to Hareton. “Nay,” he replied, looking down, and blushing bashfully. He could not stand a steady gaze from her eyes, though they were just his own. “Whose, then--your master’s?” she asked. He coloured deeper, with a different feeling, muttered an oath, and turned away. “Who is his master?” continued the tiresome girl, appealing to me. “He talked about ‘our house’, and ‘our folk’. I thought he had been the owner’s son. And he never said, Miss; he should have done, shouldn’t he, if he’s a servant?” Hareton grew black as a thundercloud at this childish speech. I silently shook my questioner, and at last succeeded in equipping her for departure. “Now, get my horse,” she said, addressing her unknown kinsman as she would one of the stable-boys at the Grange. “And you may come with me. I want to see where the goblin-hunter |