For, she recognized a bumpy substance beneath her as the crushed basket.

And these baskets belonged to Ruloff; not to the Place.
For the accidental breaking of far less worthwhile things, at home, she and her brothers and sisters had often been thrashed most unmercifully: Her lamentations soared to high heaven.

And her father's running feet sounded like the tramp of Doom.
There is perhaps no other terror so awful as that of an ill treated child at the approach of punishment.

A man or woman, menaced by danger from law or from private foe, can either fight it out or run away from it.

But there is no hiding place for a child from a brute parent.