Just outside the yard she met Mr. Dolloway. “Good-morning, ma’am. Where’s that boy?”
“I’m looking for him now.”
“H’m-m! I came to tell him he’d probably addled all them eggs a handling ’em so much, and I’d brought him a few fresh ones. Yesterday he took a whole nest full and punched a pin-hole in ’em, to see the chicks inside. He’s—he’s a great one!”
Mr. Dolloway’s tone betokened more amusement than anger, and Mrs. Beckwith eagerly exclaimed: “I was sure you would like my little son, after you understood him thoroughly.”
“H’m-m! I defy anybody to do that, ma’am,—understand him, begging your pardon for my freedom. Ho—hello! What—what— Look yonder!”
The mother wheeled about anxiously, and followed her neighbor’s gaze houseward. There on the ridge-pole of the old roof sat the lad they sought. The house was three stories high in one part, but sloped downward to within a few feet of the ground on the “Revolutionary” side, after the fashion of buildings of that period. This long slope of roof was on the north, and almost directly below the eaves was the cistern, which for purposes of cleaning and repairing was that morning uncovered.
“Oh! my boy! if he should slip!”
“As he probably will.”
At that instant Robert stood up to examine the ancient weather-cock which had attracted him to his perilous perch, and forgetting where he was began to twist the dingy “chanticleer” upon its rod.
Suddenly there was a rush, a cry—a sudden downward flash of knickerbockered legs, and “Humpty-Dumpty” had disappeared in the cistern.