"A wig!" repeated Susan, horrified at the mere thought of such a terror.
"You stop here, Susan, and don't never 'oller about me," said Bobsey, imperiously.
Calling the cat such pet names as "poor tabby" and "good old Tom," he conveyed it to the roof.
He was as good as his word.
The cat was thrown down the chimney, and in spite of its claws, forced to descend.
Tremendous quantities of soot were dislodged in the foul chimney by its struggles, and shot down with great velocity.
Never was a chimney more artistically or more cleanly swept.
The Rev. C. Floyd was indulging in a little lecture, which he thought would do Tommy good.
"This, my friend," he was saying, "is the land of freedom and intelligence. You must not allow yourself to get behind the age. Keep pace with the times. There are people who would stifle education—who would throw a dense pall of black ignorance over the country, and——"
At this moment a terrific avalanche of soot fell down, covering those in front of the fire.