“You are a sharp one, Alf, and no mistake,” she cried.
“But you won’t peach—won’t tell the governor?” said he.
“No—no. Let us hope his anger is all over by this time.”
“He won’t forget his promise about the hare, I daresay, but what of that? It won’t hurt me.”
The lad was quite right—Jamblin did not forget the promise he had made.
“Look here, men, just pinion this young scoundrel. We’ll teach him a lesson he won’t easily forget,” cried the farmer to his labourers in the yard on the following morning.
The men obeyed and the boy’s arms were fastened firmly, so that there was no possibility of his raising them.
The hare was then slung under his chin.
“Now, my lad, see how that suits you,” said Jamblin. “It shall hang there till you promise never to do the same thing again.”
He was driven out of the yard by the farm labourers, who one and all detested him for his mischievous ways, and therefore they enjoyed the fun immensely.