“Oh, I dare say it is nothing but the horses in the stable, or that wretched old Hector rattling his everlasting chain,” answered Fatsides. “You know the other night when you woke us all up it turned out to be nothing but Buttercup rubbing her horns against the crib.”
“Ah, very likely,” interrupted Wilful; “but this is a very different thing. There, just hear that strange popping sound; depend upon it, either the stables are on fire, or there are a number of those frightful great blue butchers killing and carrying off all the cows. I am determined, at any rate, that I will go and see what is the matter.”
“Oh, pray do not go!” exclaimed little Fatsides. “How do you know that one of the great blue butchers may not get hold of you and carry you off?”
“I should like to see them!” said Wilful. “No, no; I have lived long enough in the world to be wiser than that, too. The blue butchers will never catch me, I can tell you; clever as they think themselves, they will find that they have met with their match at last!”
“Well, I know you are very clever,” rejoined his brother, who was getting very sleepy, “and so I suppose you must have your own way. But I do not see how you are to get out, for you know Bob always shuts the door the last thing.”
“Ah, very likely,” said Wilful; “but the door does not fasten tight, and I can push it open with very little trouble whenever I like. The other morning, before any of you were awake, I went out to desire Cock-a-doodle not to crow so loud, because I thought it would disturb my mother, and nobody knew anything about it; and Cock-a-doodle, by the way, behaved so extremely ill that I have taken no notice of him ever since. Poor fellow! I suppose I must give him a kind word to-morrow; for my friend Miss Peck tells me that he seemed sadly out of spirits, and she was certain he was a good deal cut up about it, for she had seen him skulking behind the faggot pile all by himself, and though he pretended to be picking up an insect when he saw her, she was sure that he had really retired there to mourn over his misconduct. I wish that Miss Peck were here now, that I might have her opinion about this dreadful noise. It is really worse than ever. What do you think I had better do, Fatsides?”
But Fatsides made no answer; he had fallen asleep whilst Wilful was talking, and all the others were snoring away as happily as possible. Wilful saw it was of no use to try to make any of them go out with him into the yard; and to go out he was determined, come what would of it, for he had one of those inquisitive and restless dispositions that cannot be satisfied without prying into everything. He lay quite still, however, for a minute or two, to make sure of his mother’s being asleep; and then rustling carefully through the straw, he pushed hard against the door of the sty, which opened suddenly with such a loud creak as made the old sow give a great grunt, and half open one of her eyes. Wilful himself nearly jumped out of his skin, but recovering himself directly, he set off and ran as fast as he could along one side of the yard, without thinking where he was going, till he was stopped by coming against some great rough thing that lay in his way. The stars were shining brightly up in the sky, and by their light Wilful could just see that it was Jack, the old donkey, who was stretched out on the straw close to the cart-shed, dozing away an hour or two to shorten the night. He opened his eyes when Wilful ran up against him, and asked rather drowsily what was the matter.
“My dear Sir,” said Wilful, “is it possible that you have been lying quietly here whilst such dreadful things are going on about the premises?”
“What things?” said Jack, opening his eyes rather wider.
“What things?” rejoined Wilful; “why, all this shooting, and stabbing, and burning, and butchering, that has been carrying on here ever since night-fall.”