Then he went to the ladder and climbed up into the loft, and I stood listening to him as he nestled down in amongst the straw. Then Old Brownsmith came to the back-door with the lantern and called me in to go up to my room.
Chapter Thirteen.
Learning my Lessons.
Next morning the old gentleman talked at breakfast-time about the police, and having the young scoundrels sent to prison. Directly after, he went down the garden with me and nine cats, to inspect the damages, and when he saw the trampling and breaking of boughs he stroked a tom-cat and made it purr, while he declared fiercely that he would not let an hour pass without having the young dogs punished.
“They shall be caught and sent to prison,” he cried.
“Poor old Sammy then.—I’ll have ’em severely punished, the young depredators.—Grant, you’d better get a sharp knife and a light ladder, and cut off those broken boughs—the young villains—and tell Ike to bring a big rake and smooth out these footmarks. No; I’ll tell him. You get the knife. I shall go to the police at once.”
I cut out the broken boughs, and Ike brought down the ladder for me and smoothed over the footmarks, chatting about the events of the past night the while.
“He won’t get no police to work, my lad, not he. Forget all about it directly. Makes him a bit raw, o’ course,” said Ike, smoothing away with the rake. “Haw! haw! haw! Think o’ you two leathering of ’em. I wish I’d been here, ’stead of on the road to London. Did you hit ’em hard?”