“Hallo! there’s my horse, reeking with sweat. Where is that imp of mischief?” thundered the exasperated captain. “If I catch her—”
“Here I am, cap’n. Clear the coast! Ha, ha, ha! Hooray!”
The voice came from the garret. There was a thundering racket on the stairs, a crash against the door, which flew open, and Becky, seated in an old cradle without rockers, burst into the entry. Tired of listening, she had searched the garret for sport, had dragged this old emblem of infancy from its hiding-place to the head of the stairs, seated herself in it, and, regardless of consequences, started for a slide.
It was a reckless act. As the door flew open, the cradle struck the captain’s shins, throwing him backwards, and pitching Becky out of the front door on to the grass. The captain scrambled to his feet, furious with pain and choler. Becky regained hers quickly and started for the barn, the captain in hot pursuit. Another stern chase. The captain soon desisted, mounted his horse, and rode away, while Miss Becky perched herself on the rickety fence, and saluted the captain’s ears, as he rode down the hill, with the refrain of the well-known song, “O, dear, what can the matter be?”
CHAPTER III.
MRS. THOMPSON’S CROSS.
The captain cantered home in no enviable state of mind. His mission had been successful, in as much as he had gained Mrs. Sleeper’s consent to his plan for “tying up” her children. Otherwise he felt unhappy regarding the events of the day. There were still stinging pains in his ankles and back to remind him of Miss Becky’s exploit, and the shrill, sarcastic voice of Hulda Prime still rang in his ears. That so miserable a creature as he considered her should have dared to criticise his conduct was peculiarly mortifying to his pride. Aunt Hulda had, indeed, spoken boldly. He was, undoubtedly the greatest man in Cleverly. Senior deacon in the church, moderator at town meetings, referee in all disputes, and general adviser of his fellow-townsmen, he was a man to be treated with respect, a man who would brook no interference with his plans, a man whose opinions must not be combatted, and one whom people did not think it safe to thwart. And this poor old hanger-on at people’s firesides had dared to criticise a proceeding which others had not the courage to mention in his presence. And he had not the power to punish her. Poor Aunt Hulda was never thought so much of before by a man as she was by the captain during his homeward ride.
Gloomily he rode into the yard, and consigned Uncle Ned to the care of Phil Hague, his man-of-all-work, who advanced smiling, to meet him, undeterred by the black looks of his master.