“Let’s go and take them off now.”
Eunice was quite willing, so they clambered down, chattering and laughing still.
At a little distance stood old Thomas, attracted by their voices. He had been coming through the orchard, and he saw up in the tree what he thought were two ragamuffins, stealing apples, and he was lying in wait for their descent. As they slipped down, and swung off from a low branch, he darted forward, and caught one of them in his arms. Of course, it chanced to be Cricket.
“I’ve caught ye now, ye young rascal! I’ll teach yer to steal our apples!”
“Why, Thomas!” cried Cricket, “don’t you know me?”
“Yer bet I know yer. I’ve been watchin’ for yer this long time back. I ’low I’ll give yer a trouncin’ that yer’ll remember for one while, yer young scallawags!” Thomas cried, holding the struggling child by the shoulder, and bringing his stick whack across her back. The big pillow saved her from the blow, and Eunice again flew to the rescue. She managed to get hold of the stick, and clung to it with both her strong little hands.
“Don’t you know us, Thomas?” both children cried. “We’re not stealing apples; they’re ours.”
“Yourn, be they? I’ll teach yer if they’re yourn, yer young impidence!” Thomas cried, angrily, drowning the children’s protests in his loud tones. “I’ve been on the lookout fer ye, stealin’ my apples and melins, and garden truck. I’ll hev ye up before the doctor. He said he saw two strange boys scootin’ round the orchard ’sarternoon; and now I’ve caught yer, I’ll teach yer to steal apples and sich,” shaking her till her teeth knocked together, and her arms flew about like a wind-mill.
Then he tightened his clutch upon the unfortunate Cricket, who was quite overcome by this second attack, and grasping Eunice by the arm, he started off, dragging the protesting children.
“Let us alone, Thomas,” screamed Cricket, at the top of her lungs. “We—’re—not—boys—at—all.”