“Now, where’s them rambunktious boys?” said Thomas, looking in the sheds. “Hullo! there, you fellers—I’m a-goin’.”
The boys had gone to explore the gable of the mill, and were now seen walking along the ridge-pole.
“You scallawags!” screamed Thomas, “come down here. I’m a-goin’ immijit!”
Archie sat down astride the gable.
“All right, old Thomas, we’ll be there.”
His pockets were stuffed with small green apples, as convenient missiles for any chance mark. He took one out.
“Bet you, Will, that I can hit old Judge square between the horns,” he said, taking aim. Straight away sped the bullet-like missile. It missed its mark, however, and struck old Judge a stinging blow full on his sensitive nose.
Old Judge’s temper was none of the best under any circumstances. He threw up his head with a sudden bellow of pain and rage, and then, jerking forward, to the surprise of everyone, he started off at a heavy lumbering run, dragging with him his astonished yokefellow.
“Whoa, thar,” cried Thomas. “Whoa, ye fool-critters! whoa, thar!”
He might as well have called to the wind. The clumsy creatures had found that they could run, and frightened by the noise of the heavy cart, lumbering at their heels, by the shrieking children, and by the shouts of the men, bewildered by their own revolt, and the unusual feeling of liberty, they covered the ground at a swinging pace.