A blustering old harvester, the man who worked the field, saw the forlorn young cavalier standing dejectedly by the fence, and the frolicsome pony plunging through the ripe grain, and straightway fumed with awful indignation. His first proceeding was to catch and stop the pony, after which he turned his attention to Will. Will advanced a step or so to meet the puffing farmer and the quaking horse, and was about to mumble his thanks, when the farmer snappishly cut him short, crying hoarsely:
“You miserable scamp! How dare you jump into my fields like this? See, will you, what damage your beast has done!”
“But, sir,” said Will, “it is not my fault at all; it is an accident. The pony ran away with me, as you yourself can see.”
“Accident? What have I to do with your accidents? Don’t you know better than to ride runaway horses? Don’t you——”
“Course he don’t; don’t know beans;” yelled one of the little gamins, encouraged by the farmer’s bullying words to speak his mind. Or perhaps he thought to win favor with the farmer by reviling the hapless horseman.
“Course,” chimed in the one who lost and found the most jack-knives. “Course, what business did he want to git on to a runaway horse for anyway?”
“I wish I had a horse, too,” whined the most “ingenuous” one.
“Guess he ain’t—”
“Stop that!” thundered the farmer. “Stop that, and get away from this!”
The little coves snatched up their jack-knives, but did not stop to look for their pins, and darted off without a word. They ran a few yards and then squatted in the shade of another fence corner.