Mr and Mrs Root burst out into a long and, for the time, apparently uncontrollable laughter. When it had somewhat subsided, the schoolmaster exclaimed, “There, madam, didn’t I tell you he was a singular lad? Come here, you little wag, I must give you a kiss for your drollery.” And the monster hauled me to him, and when his face was close to mine, I saw a wolfish glare in his eyes, that made me fear that he was going to bite my nose off. The lady did not at all participate in the joviality; and, as it is difficult to keep up mirth entirely upon one’s own resources, we were beginning to be a gloomy party. What I had unconsciously said regarding my master’s voice, was wormwood to him. He had long been the butt of all his acquaintance respecting it, and what followed was the making that unbearable which was before too bitter. Many questions were put by the visitor, and the answers appeared to grow more and more unsatisfactory as they were elicited. The lady was beginning to look unhappy, when a sudden brightness came over her lovely countenance, and, with the most polished and kindly tone, she asked to see Mr Root’s own children. Mr Root looked silly, and Mrs Root distressed. The vapid and worn-out joke that their family was so large, that it boasted of the number of two hundred and fifty, fell spiritless to the ground; and disappointment, and even a slight shade of despondence, came over the lady’s features.
“Where were you, Ralph, when I came?” said she; “I waited for you long.”
“I was being washed, and putting on my second best.”
“But why washed at this time of day—and why put on your second best?”
“Because I had dirtied my hands, and my other clothes, carrying up the tea-kettle to Mr Matthews’s room.”
Mr and Mrs Root again held up their hands in astonishment.
“And who is Mr Matthews?” continued the lady.
“Second Latin master, and ill abed in the garret.”
“From whence did you take the tea-kettle?”
“From the kitchen.”