“Go on, and look sharp about it, then.”
“Aint hares wild animals, the same as rats, foxes, and such like?” said the boy. “When I made a new sort of trap and caught the rats for you, which nobody else could do, didn’t you praise me and acknowledge it was a clever contrivance?”
“You young rascal!” cried Jamblin. “Don’t ’ee think to shield yourself by your book larning. Wild animals, indeed. I’ll flay ’ee alive, you viper.”
The farmer seized hold of a stout stick which was lying on the table.
“There was a farmer lagged the other day for killing a boy,” said the lad, in an insolent tone. “So don’t lay it on too strong, master, for fear of your own precious life.”
“You insolent ruffian!” exclaimed Jamblin. “Hang me if I ever met with your like, and hope I never shall for the matter o’ that.”
He rained a heavy shower of blows upon the boy’s back and shoulders, which he bore without flinching or even uttering a cry.
The farmer was surprised.
“He’s a hardened callous rascal that no mortal man can mek anything on, and that be the solemn truth.”
“He won’t do it again—I’m sure he won’t, father,” pleaded the girl.