“There’s scarcely a cabbage left,” returned Mrs. Mudge, purposely exaggerating the mischief done.
“If you had mended that fence, as I told you to do, time and again, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“You didn’t tell me but once,” said Mr. Mudge, trying to get up a feeble defence.
“Once should have been enough, and more than enough. You expect me to slave myself to death in the house, and see to all your work besides. If I’d known what a lazy, shiftless man you were, at the time I married you, I’d have cut off my right hand first.”
By this time Mr. Mudge had become angry.
“If you hadn’t married me, you’d a died an old maid,” he retorted.
This was too much for Mrs. Mudge to bear. She snatched the larger half of the broom, and fetched it down with considerable emphasis upon the back of her liege lord, who, perceiving that her temper was up, retreated hastily from the kitchen; as he got into the yard he descried Brindle, whose appetite had been whetted by her previous raid, re-entering the garden through the gap.
It was an unfortunate attempt on the part of Brindle. Mr. Mudge, angry with his wife, and smarting with the blow from the broomstick, determined to avenge himself upon the original cause of all the trouble. Revenge suggested craft. He seized a hoe, and crept stealthily to the cabbage-plot. Brindle, whose back was turned, did not perceive his approach, until she felt a shower of blows upon her back. Confused at the unexpected attack she darted wildly away, forgetting the gap in the fence, and raced at random over beds of vegetables, uprooting beets, parsnips, and turnips, while Mr. Mudge, mad with rage, followed close in her tracks, hitting her with the hoe whenever he got a chance.
Brindle galloped through the yard, and out at the open gate. Thence she ran up the road at the top of her speed, with Mr. Mudge still pursuing her.
It may be mentioned here that Mr. Mudge was compelled to chase the terrified cow over two miles before he succeeded with the help of a neighbor in capturing her. All this took time. Meanwhile Mrs. Mudge at home was subjected to yet another trial of her temper.
It has already been mentioned that Squire Newcome was Chairman of the Overseers of the Poor. In virtue of his office, he was expected to exercise a general supervision over the Almshouse and its management. It was his custom to call about once a month to look after matters, and ascertain whether any official action or interference was needed.
Ben saw his father take his gold-headed cane from behind the door, and start down the road. He understood his destination, and instantly the plan of a stupendous practical joke dawned upon him.
“It’ll be jolly fun,” he said to himself, his eyes dancing with fun. “I’ll try it, anyway.”
He took his way across the fields, so as to reach the Almshouse before his father. He then commenced his plan of operations.
Mrs. Mudge had returned to her tub, and was washing away with bitter energy, thinking over her grievances in the matter of Mr. Mudge, when a knock was heard at the front door.
Taking her hands from the tub, she wiped them on her apron.
“I wish folks wouldn’t come on washing day!” she said in a tone of vexation.
She went to the door and opened it.
There was nobody there.
“I thought somebody knocked,” thought she, a little mystified. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”
She went back to her tub, and had no sooner got her hands in the suds than another knock was heard, this time on the back door.
“I declare!” said she, in increased vexation, “There’s another knock. I shan’t get through my washing to-day.”
Again Mrs. Mudge wiped her hands on her apron, and went to the door.
There was nobody there.
I need hardly say that it was Ben, who had knocked both times, and instantly dodged round the corner of the house.
“It’s some plaguy boy,” said Mrs. Mudge, her eyes blazing with anger. “Oh, if I could only get hold of him!”