“He isn’t hurt at all, uncle,” I said. “It was all in play.”
“But your aunt is in agony, my boy. Here, let me take the cat to her.”
He stretched out his hands to take the cat from my shoulder, but Buzzy’s eyes dilated and he began to swear, making my uncle start back, for he dreaded a scratch from anything but a rose thorn, and those he did not mind.
“Would you mind taking him to your aunt, Natty, my boy?” he said.
“No, uncle, if you’ll please come too,” I said. “Don’t let aunt scold me, uncle; I’m very sorry, and it was only play.”
“I’ll come with you, Nat,” he said, shaking his head; “but I ought not to have let you have that bow, and I’m afraid she will want it burnt.”
“Will she be very cross?” I said.
“I’m afraid so, my boy.” And she really was.
“Oh you wicked, wicked boy,” she cried as I came up; “what were you doing?”
“Only playing at tiger-hunting, aunt,” I said.