“Ho! Look at the girlth a-havin' a ride out! Look at the horthe! My, thee hith bonthe thtick out! Gueth they feed him on thawdutht an' shavingth, don't they, Mandy?”
“Oh, look at 'em! Look at 'em! Them's some er the private school; don't they look grand ridin' in Bill Tillson's grocery wagin?” shouted Mandy.
“I wonder if that horthe would jump if I fired a thnowball?”
“Don't ye do it!” shouted the driver.
“Better not, Chub!” cried Mandy, thinking that perhaps the fun had gone far enough.
The fact that he had been told not to made Chub long to do it.
“Here's the place,” said the driver, and, grasping one of the bags, he jumped from the team and ran into the house with the parcel. The reins lay loosely upon the horse's back.
Chub, who had kept pace with the team, now paused to choose the most interesting bit of mischief. Should he make a grab at the loose-lying reins, and by jerking them surprise the horse, or would he be more frisky if the half-dozen snowballs which he had been making were all hurled at him at once?
Before he could decide, the boy came out of the house, and jumping into the pung, gathered up the reins, and attempted to turn the team towards home. Chub thought if he were to have any fun, he must get it quickly.
“Heighoh! You Jumpin' Ginger!” he shouted, at the same time letting fly the six snowballs. The frightened nag reared, and turning sharply about, tipped the pung, completely emptying it of passengers and freight.