Mr. Tod watched it for half an hour; his eyes glistened.
Then he cut a caper, and became so bold that he even tapped at the window; but the bundle never moved.
Yes—there was no doubt about it—it had turned out even better than he had planned; the pail had hit poor old Tommy Brock, and killed him dead!
"I will bury that nasty person in the hole which he has dug. I will bring my bedding out, and dry it in the sun," said Mr. Tod.
"I will wash the tablecloth and spread it on the grass in the sun to bleach. And the blanket must be hung up in the wind; and the bed must be thoroughly disinfected, and aired with a warming-pan; and warmed with a hot-water bottle."
"I will get soft soap, and monkey soap, and all sorts of soap; and soda and scrubbing brushes; and persian powder; and carbolic to remove the smell. I must have a disinfecting. Perhaps I may have to burn sulphur."
He hurried round the house to get a shovel from the kitchen—"First I will arrange the hole—then I will drag out that person in the blanket...."
He opened the door....