Part 2 (2/2)
”Then, say, it is pleasanter here than in the lane. I shall go on, making this dust, till you say that.”
”I cannot say that, because I do not think so, Owen.”
”I'll make you think so, and say so too.”
”You are not taking the right way to make me think so: you know that I cannot think this dust agreeable.”
Owen persisted; and he raised continually a fresh cloud of dust, in spite of all that Marianne or his companions could say to him.--They left him, and went to the opposite side of the road; but wherever they went, he pursued--At length they came to a turnpike-gate, on one side of which there was a turn-stile; Marianne and the rest of the children pa.s.sed, one by one, through the turn-stile, whilst Owen was emptying his shoes of dust. When this was done, he looked up, and saw all his companions on the other side of the gate, holding the turn-stile, to prevent him from coming through.
”Let me through, let me through,” cried he, ”I must and will come through.”
”No, no, Owen,” said they, ”_must_ will not do now; we have you safe; here are ten of us; and we will not let you come through till you have promised that you will not make any more dust.”
Owen, without making any answer, began to kick, and push, and pull, and struggle, with all his might; but in vain he struggled, pulled, pushed and kicked; he found that ten people are stronger than one.--When he felt that he could not conquer them by force, he began to cry; and he roared as loud as he possibly could.
No one but the turnpike-man was within hearing; and he stood laughing at Owen.
Owen tried to climb the gate; but he could not get over it, because there were iron spikes at the top.
”Only promise that you will not kick up the dust, and they will let you through,” said Marianne.
Owen made no answer, but continued to struggle till his whole face was scarlet, and till both his wrists ached: he could not move the turn-stile an inch.
”Well,” said he, stopping short, ”now you are all of you joined together; you are stronger than I; but I am as cunning as you.”
He left the stile, and began to walk homewards.
”Where are you going? You will be too late at school, if you turn back and go by the lane,” said Marianne.
”I know that, very well; but that will be your fault, and not mine--I shall tell our dame, that you all of you held the turn-stile against me, and would not let me through.”
”And we shall tell our dame why we held the turn-stile against you,”
replied one of the children; ”and then it will be plain that it was your fault.”
Perhaps Owen did not hear this; for he was now at some distance from the gate. Presently he heard some one running after him--It was Marianne.
”Oh, I am so much out of breath with running after you!--I can hardly speak!--But I am come back,” said this good-natured girl, ”to tell you that you will be sorry if you do not come with us; for there is something that you like very much, just at the turn of the road, a little beyond the turnpike-gate.”
”Something that I like very much!--What can that be?”
”Come with _me_, and you shall _see_,” said Marianne; ”that is both rhyme and reason--Come with _me_, and you shall _see_.”
She looked so good-humoured, as she smiled and nodded at him, that he could not be sullen any longer.
”I don't know how it is, cousin Marianne,” said he; ”but when I am cross, you are never cross; and you can always bring me back to good-humour again, you are so good-humoured yourself--I wish I was like you--But we need not talk any more of that now--What is it that I shall see on the other side of the turnpike-gate?--What is it that I like very much?”
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