Part 29 (2/2)
”Follow after me, if you please,” said the young man, with real kindness in his tones.
The quarrel seemed forgotten.
In a little while, Sam came limping to the field with a jug of fresh water. He was beginning to use his sprained ankle again, but he made awkward work of it. Mr. Royden called him, and drank from the jug, having first offered it to Father Brighthopes.
”Any mice, Jim?” asked Sam, slyly.
”We have no time to think of mice, my son,” said the clergyman.
At that moment one of the little animals in question ran away from his rake, and took refuge under the wagon.
”I'll ketch him!” said Sam, with eyes sparkling mischief.
”Come, come! no nonsense this afternoon,” cried Mr. Royden. ”Go and carry the jug to the men. They're wanting it by this time.”
”I'm going right along, sir,” replied Sam, starting, but looking back for the mouse.
Mr. Royden went on. Turning presently, he saw the boy in hot pursuit of the unhappy mouse. He had forgotten about his lame foot. He was leaping about on the mown sward, and dancing this way and that, with surprising agility.
The truth is, his ankle had been nearly well for two or three days; and he had cherished the convenient habit of hopping and jumping only to excuse himself from labor. Betrayed into running by a mouse, and by his pa.s.sion for mischief, he confirmed a suspicion which had already entered Mr. Royden's mind.
”Here, you little rascal!” cried the farmer, provoked, but at the same time not a little amused. ”Sam Cone!”
Sam did not hear, or would not heed, so enthusiastic was he in the pursuit of fun. At length he made a seizure, with his hand in the turf, and brought up the mouse, screaming with delight.
”I got him! I got him! I g----Blast your pictur'!”
His song changed suddenly from joy to lamentation. The mouse had bit his finger with its sharp teeth, and would not let go. Sam flirted, yelled, and finally shook him off, with much ado. The animal escaped, while he, reflecting probably that it was a small affair to cry about, became silent, and squeezed the oozing drops of blood from his wounds, glancing sheepishly around, to see who was looking at him.
”So, your foot is well enough to chase mice, is it?” said Mr. Royden, with quiet humor. ”Now, supposing you should take a rake, and help the men with those win'rows?”
”Got bit!” muttered Sam. ”Darned ol' mouse!”
”Shall we send for a doctor?” laughed James.
”His teeth went clear through!” complained Sam, limping again worse than ever, and sucking his finger.
But he did not argue the propriety of obeying the farmer's directions.
He carried the jug to the men, and went slowly, limpingly, to work.
XXIV.
THE THUNDER-STORM.
Mr. Royden got upon the stack with James, and, to hasten this department of the afternoon's work, Mark Wheeler and one of the laborers pitched up the load.
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