For answer the indignant pig ran between his legs, all but upsetting him, and the others crowded in closer yet. Thoroughly frightened, the Artist decided that extreme measures were justifiable. Recalling the magic word whispered in his ear by the Poet, he raised his hand and thundered:—
“ABRACADABRA!”
The effect was instantaneous, but disconcerting. After one instant of general stupefaction, Clarence stood on his hind-legs with his forefeet beating the air, and addressed his companions in a shrill whinny, which they readily understood to mean:—
“What! Shall a miserable interloper presume so far!”
“Let me at him!” roared the bull-calf, with horns low and tail high.
The Artist turned and fled, with Gustavius bellowing at his heels, urged on by his comrades following close behind. Straight for the house sped the fugitive. The low-limbed cherry tree was nearer, and, luckily, he remembered it in time. Having sufficient presence of mind at the last moment to fling his forty-dollar Panama hat into Gustavius’s face, he swung himself into the tree, and was safe.
Gustavius kept one eye on him while practicing on the hat, which was presently only an expensive memory.
Clarence, finding the kitchen door open, walked in. By way of a rain-water barrel, the woodshed, and the water-tank, William mounted to the peak of the house roof and proceeded to enjoy the prospect. Reginald made himself comfortable in a veranda rocker. Mrs. Cowslip found the soft earth of the tulip-bed conducive to somnolence and cud-chewing, while Cleopatra grazed near by on some late pansies. Such was the scene that presented itself to Galatea when she returned alone, having found Si Blodgett more scared than hurt.
“Why, Arthur!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing up there?”
“Call off your bull-calf, and I’ll come down and tell you.” The Artist was annoyed.