“Where the fox-hounds had chased you?” asked Mrs. Goodman.
Frank blushed as he answered “Yes, mother.” And then he added, “I thought a thousand years in one minute!”
Father and mother, and Mary, and even Frank, had a hearty laugh, and then Mr. Goodman went on with the story.
“Fortunately for Bob—or, I ought to say, providentially, for Providence takes care even of the naughty, and gives them a chance to try again, when they are really sorry, and mean to do better—providentially for the squirrel, he fell into a thick tree, where he lodged, and the leaves and branches concealed him from his cruel enemy. He was torn, and bloody, and weak, and could only use one fore paw, for the other was broken.”
“Ho!” shouted little Frank, “Now I say you ar’n’t fair!—You said you wouldn’t tell my story!”
“But you are not a squirrel, Frank,” said his mother, laughing. “Besides, I did not hear your father make any such promise.”
“Well,” said Frank, a little puzzled, “he looked the promise.”
“You are a physiognomist, Frank,” said his father, smiling.
“No, sir, I am sure I am not,” said Frank; “but, what kind of a person is a phys—say it again, father! I know I can’t be one, because I can’t tell what it means.”
“It is one who reads faces, Frank; and children and dogs are the best in the world.”