Her astonishment gave way to annoyance, quickly followed by a surge of red anger. She handed the reins to her escort and leaped from the surrey with the agility of a tigress.
Sube involuntarily fell back a few steps muttering: "Why! That must be him! I wonder where he's been!"
But he need have no fear, for this was his day. He was immune from disaster of any kind. The enraged woman rushed past him, and seizing Biscuit by the nape of the neck, hauled him over her knee and repeatedly applied to his person a large red hand, utterly regardless of the nebulous masses of dust that arose at each stroke.
At first Biscuit put up a terrified resistance, attempting desperately to get a hearing for his plea of justification; but when the blows began to rain down on him he gave himself up to such solace as the human voice affords.
He cried; then he bawled; and as the chastisement proceeded he bellowed lustily. It was not so much the physical pain, nor the anguish of outraged innocence, although he felt both keenly, as it was the burning disgrace of being chastised in the presence of his fellows.
But his lamentations had little effect on his mother. She ceased her ministrations only when her strength was spent.
"There!" she gasped with her final blow. "You—dirty—boy!!—Look at your bare feet!"
Biscuit looked at them. They were indeed bare, and very, very dirty.
"You know you are forbidden to go barefooted!" she charged with a gesture that seemed to indicate that she contemplated a renewal of the assault. "And look at your beautiful new trousers! They're ruined!!"
Biscuit glanced down at them, at the same time keeping up a defensive blubbering.