Like one who has committed a great crime, and knows that retributive justice is in close proximity to his heels, Simon Rump fled homeward, on foot, a miserable man. The blows and the hair-pulling, of which he was the recipient, had driven the delusion from his brain, and he was conscious of his guilt, and in trembling apprehension awaited his punishment. In the house, where he had spent so many hours in days gone by, contemplating the blissful period when it would be the abode of an angel and seven sweet little cherubs, he now sat and listened with a feeling of extreme terror for the sounds which would indicate the approach of the angel aforesaid.
At length the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard, and peeping through the window, poor Rump beheld the angel ride up with a female cherub on the pillion behind her. A male cherub was mounted on the other horse. As Rump saw them in the act of dismounting, the manly fortitude which he had endeavored to summon up instantly forsook him, and he seized his hat and fled with precipitation from the house through a back door. The wretched man ran with speed until he reached a wood on the outskirts of his farm, where he wandered for hours, like one who had been driven an outcast from association with his kind. Tired and sleepy, he at last ventured into his barn, and throwing himself on a bundle of hay, endeavored to recruit his exhausted faculties in the arms of Morpheus.
With the ruddy dawn of the day the consciousness of his misery returned. Rump rubbed his eyes and looked around. At the distance of one hundred yards from where he sat on his bundle of hay he beheld his domicile, in which dwelt an angel and seven sweet little cherubs, who had become to him the beings he most dreaded to encounter. The hour for breakfast at length arrived, and he knew that hot coffee and buttered cakes were on the old mahogany table, and he was a miserable wretch banished from his own board. Hunger at length drove him forth, and with timidity he approached his house, ascended the steps, and attempted to open the door. It was bolted. Rump rapped.
"Who is there?" asked the angel, in shrill and abrupt tones.
"It is I," said Simon.
"Who is I?" asked the mother of the cherubs.
"Simon Rump," said the lord of the mansion.
"Simon Rump is dead. I planted a rose over that good man's grave more than a year ago. What do you want?"
"I am hungry; I want my breakfast," said Simon.
"Go around to the kitchen and eat with the cook," said the angel.