The incensed farmer, also, meekly followed by Will leading the horse, moved farther up the border of the field.
When they halted, Will a second time said it was all an accident.
“Accident or not, I’ll put the law on your track, I will you awful sneak! See here, how old are you!”
“I shall be fifteen in September,” said Will, with boyish eagerness to appear as old as possible.
“I didn’t ask how old you would be in the future, nor how young you were in the past,” snapped the furrow-faced chuff.
Will always kept a careful account of his age, and consequently was able to answer promptly: “My age, then, is fourteen years, ten months, and seven days.”
“Very good,” said the farmer. “Well, I am only calculating,” he added slowly and coolly, “whether you are old enough to be sent to jail.”
Doubtless, the hard-hearted wretch expected to see Will blanch at this implied threat. But, if so, he was wofully disappointed, Will having his own motives for maintaining his equanimity.
“You shall be punished, that is certain,” continued the farmer. “Come along, now; don’t stand there like a stationary scarecrow; come along.”
Even as the violent old fellow spoke, he made a movement to seize Will by the coat-collar. But this was more than human nature could bear; and with a nimbleness that defied capture, Will sprang back, stood his ground within nine feet of his persecutor, and began boldly: