“Lynch-law, my dear, is the process of inflicting punishment, by private persons, for crimes or offences, without reference to law. That is, you know, that however disagreeable Mamie may be, and however much she annoys you, you really had no right to touch her. You should have consulted your mother or me long ago, before things came to this pass. We are the law, in this case. Instead of this, you took the law into your own hands, and the consequence is that the law now takes you in hand. However, I am willing to consider the mitigating circumstances—that means what excuse you had—and we will say that you two must remain apart till dinner-time, and meditate on the beauty of the virtue of instant obedience.”
“Oh, papa,” cried Cricket, hugging him well, willing to take her punishment now that the merited lecture was over, “next time that you send me with a note I’ll go like a little spider, you’ll see!”
But I regret to say that Cricket even after this had a very hard lesson before she learned to be perfectly trustworthy where her memory was concerned. But this story comes later.
CHAPTER XV.
GOING TO THE CIDER MILL.
It was a hot, scorching afternoon in late August. All the grown people had retired to darkened rooms in the coolest depths of the great stone house, in search of what comfort could be found. Even nurse had gone to bed with a headache.
Mamma and auntie had tried to sit on the piazza, for a time, to watch the little ones, but at last they, too, had to give it up.
“What are children made of?” sighed auntie. “How can they want to stay out doors, and broil in the sun, instead of playing in that great, cool nursery? Shall we make them come in?”
But the children rebelled at the very idea.
“Why, it isn’t very hot,” said Cricket, in amazement. “Go in the house? in the daytime? when it doesn’t rain?”
So mamma charged the older ones to take good care of the twins, and impressed upon Cricket that she must not let Kenneth out of her sight, “and don’t go away,” she finished.