“Shot me with a big gun—shot me with a big gun.”
“Will some one put a tater in that boy’s ugly mouth,” cried David indignantly. “I tell yer all it was thunder and lightning. I saw one and heard t’other, both sharp together.”
“Yes, yes, yes. Didn’t I always tell you so?” cried a shrill voice; and Tom looked round, to dimly make out Mother Warboys bending over her grandson, who was now sitting on the grass close under the wall, where he had been placed. “I always said it. His punishment’s come at last for all his wicked tricks and evil dealings.”
“And one in hers too,” cried David. “A wicked old sinner! Hold your tongue, will you!”
“Nay, nay, I’ll hold no tongue,” cried Mother Warboys. “He’s a wicked man-witch, and allays doing evil and making charms.”
“Shot me with a big gun, granny.”
“Hold thy tongue, boy. It’s come to him at last—it’s come to him at last. I always telled ye that he was a bad, wicked one. Now he’s punished.”
“Oh dear me! I cannot put up with this,” muttered the Vicar. “David, my good fellow, give me your hand. Thank you—that’s better. I think I can stand now. Oh, yes. That’s right; but I’ve lost my glasses.”
“Here they are, sir,” said a voice, “but they’re all crushed to bits.”
“Then I must do without them, I suppose.”