“Then be off home to bed. Pretty watchmen, upon my word,” cried Uncle Richard, as he turned off to go up to the house; “it’s my belief that you have both been asleep.”
“And I’m afraid that there’s about as near the truth as any one can get, Master Tom,” whispered David. “I must ha’ been mortal tired to-night. But you needn’t have hit a fellow quite so hard.”
“That’s what I feel, David; but being so stupid: that’s worse than the stick.”
“Well, I dunno ’bout that, sir,” said David, still rubbing himself; “them hazels is werry lahstick, and you put a deal o’ muskle into that first cut.”
“Well,” said Tom mournfully, “I did hit as hard as I could, David.”
“You did, Master Tom, and no mistake. Feels to me it must have cut right in. But I don’t like the master to talk like that. It arn’t nice.”
“Come, Tom! Fasten the gate!” shouted Uncle Richard.
“Yes, uncle; I’m coming. Now, David, off home.”
“Yes, sir, I’m a-goin’; but after all this trouble to lose them pears. Oh, Master Tom, it’s that there as makes me feel most sore!”
But David kept on rubbing himself gently all the same.