The Incident of the Corridor

It was not a very secure footing, for the planks of, which the shed was composed were worm-eaten and rotten. They cracked and crumbled beneath her feet, but what would she not dare to see a friendly human face? As she stood there a couple of country louts, young lads about sixteen, came strolling down the road, the one whistling and the other munching at a raw turnip. They lounged along until they came opposite to Kate's point of observation, when one of them looking up saw her pale face surmounting the wall.

"Hey, Bill," he cried to his companion, "blowed if the mad wench bean't up on the shed over yander!"

"So she be!" said the other eagerly. "Give me your turnip. Jimmy, an' I'll shy it at her."

"Noa, I'll shy it mysel'," said the gallant Jimmy; and at the word whizz came the half of a turnip within art inch of Kate's ear.

"You've missed her!" shrieked the other savage. "'Ere, quick, where be a stone?" But before he could find one the poor girl, sick at heart, clambered down from her exposed situation.

"There is no hope for me anywhere," she sobbed to herself. "Every man's hand is against me. I have only one true friend, and he is far away." She went back to her room utterly disheartened and dispirited.

Her guardian knocked at her door before dinner time. "I trust," he said, "that you have read over the service. It is as well to do so when you cannot go to church."