“Don’t you wish you could?” chuckled Ben to himself, as he caught a sly glimpse of the indignant woman.
Meanwhile, Squire Newcome had walked along in his usual slow and dignified manner, until he had reached the front door of the Poorhouse, and knocked.
“It’s that plaguy boy again,” said Mrs. Mudge, furiously. “I won’t go this time, but if he knocks again, I’ll fix him.”
She took a dipper of hot suds from the tub in which she had been washing, and crept carefully into the entry, taking up a station close to the front door.
“I wonder if Mrs. Mudge heard me knock,” thought Squire Newcome. “I should think she might. I believe I will knock again.”
This time he knocked with his cane.
Rat-tat-tat sounded on the door.
The echo had not died away, when the door was pulled suddenly open, and a dipper full of hot suds was dashed into the face of the astonished Squire, accompanied with, “Take that, you young scamp!”
“Wh–what does all this mean?” gasped Squire Newcome, nearly strangled with the suds, a part of which had found its way into his mouth.
“I beg your pardon, Squire Newcome,” said the horrified Mrs. Mudge. “I didn’t mean it.”
“What did you mean, then?” demanded Squire Newcome, sternly. “I think you addressed me,–ahem!–as a scamp.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean you,” said Mrs. Mudge, almost out of her wits with perplexity.
“Come in, sir, and let me give you a towel. You’ve no idea how I’ve been tried this morning.”
“I trust,” said the Squire, in his stateliest tone, “you will be able to give a satisfactory explanation of this, ahem–extraordinary proceeding.”
While Mrs. Mudge was endeavoring to sooth the ruffled dignity of the aggrieved Squire, the “young scamp,” who had caused all the mischief, made his escape through the fields.
“Oh, wasn’t it bully!” he exclaimed. “I believe I shall die of laughing. I wish Paul had been here to see it. Mrs. Mudge has got herself into a scrape, now, I’m thinking.”
Having attained a safe distance from the Poorhouse, Ben doubled himself up and rolled over and over upon the grass, convulsed with laughter.
“I’d give five dollars to see it all over again,” he said to himself. “I never had such splendid fun in my life.”
Presently the Squire emerged, his tall dicky looking decidedly limp and drooping, his face expressing annoyance and outraged dignity. Mrs. Mudge attended him to the door with an expression of anxious concern.
“I guess I’d better make tracks,” said Ben to himself, “it won’t do for the old gentleman to see me here, or he may smell a rat.”
He accordingly scrambled over a stone wall and lay quietly hidden behind it till he judged it would be safe to make his appearance.
XVIII.
MORE ABOUT BEN.
“BENJAMIN,” said Squire Newcome, two days after the occurrence mentioned in the last chapter, “what made the dog howl so this morning? Was you a doing anything to him?”
“I gave him his breakfast,” said Ben, innocently. “Perhaps he was hungry, and howling for that.”
“I do not refer to that,” said the Squire. “He howled as if in pain or terror. I repeat; was you a doing anything to him?”
Ben shifted from one foot to the other, and looked out of the window.
“I desire a categorical answer,” said Squire Newcome.
“Don’t know what categorical means,” said Ben, assuming a perplexed look.
“I desire you to answer me immegiately,” explained the Squire. “What was you a doing to Watch?”
“I was tying a tin-kettle to his tail,” said Ben, a little reluctantly.
“And what was you a doing that for?” pursued the Squire.
“I wanted to see how he would look,” said Ben, glancing demurely at his father, out of the corner of his eye.
“Did it ever occur to you that it must be disagreeable to Watch to have such an appendage to his tail?” queried the Squire.
“I don’t know,” said Ben.
“How should you like to have a tin pail suspended to your–ahem! your coat tail?”
“I haven’t got any coat tail,” said Ben, “I wear jackets. But I think I am old enough to wear coats. Can’t I have one made, father?”