“May it please your majesty,” said a voice from the apple-tree, and immediately Basil Pennibacker’s earnest face stared down through the boughs—“may it please your majesty, when a king is crowned, it is always customary to let fall a shower of golden pippins.”
“Why, Basil, my love—you strange boy!—how came you in that tree?” cried Mrs. Jericho.
“Wonderful escape, my anxious madam, but calm your fears. You’ll not believe my story. Never mind; in this world truth can wait: she’s used to it,” and in another moment Basil descended from the tree.
“Why, you were not here a few minutes ago, Basil,” said Monica: “how did you get into the tree?”
“The fact is,” said Basil, “I went up in a balloon, had a quarrel, and dropt my company. Quite in luck to fall among you, wasn’t I? Now the hard truth is, I came here on business.”
“On some labour of love, no doubt,” said Candituft, winking with all his might.
“My dear sir,” cried Basil, “I never see you that I don’t wish I was a bulrush, to do nothing but bow. May I say one word, my revered sir?” and Basil turned to Jericho, who coldly assented, walking apart. “Now, sir, did you receive my letter?”
“I did,” said Jericho.
“And you did not answer it? Because, don’t let me blame the postman,” said Basil.
“I did not answer it, young man,” cried Jericho with his best emphasis. “Where nothing is to be said, I take it, silence is the best reply. In a word, I will not advance a single farthing.”