"Trip-a-trop-a-tronjes,
De-vorkens-in-de-boonjes,
De-koejes-in-de-klaver,
De-Paarden-in-de-haver,
De-eenjes-in-de-waterplass,
So-pop!-my-lil-pick'ninny-goes!"
"Lorr, Lorr! I can hear dat poor lil monkey now, done choke a-larfin', when his ole Mammy toss him up inten her lap."
But Mammy's soliloquy was rudely broken in upon. Hotspur came tearing over the lawn, Bill in hot pursuit.
"Horrors unner hemlocks!" screamed Mammy, as the wild horse bolted by at a perfectly safe distance, then of his own accord pranced back to the stable yard.
Up got Mammy and trundled away. And back toward Slipside Row went Sally, laughing at Mammy's queer fright, but feeling thankful enough that she was only frightened, not hurt.
CHAPTER XIII.
TWO YEARS
With the coming of another summer there were reasons why Sir Percival Grandison did not think it best to have his son Lionel come home.
Troublous times were indeed brewing, and he did not want his enthusiastic son to hear the reports that were going from mouth to mouth and from place to place.
And when the next December came he was glad the lad was away, for in Boston, men painted and plumed like Indians had gone at night aboard some laden vessels lying in the harbor, and had thrown nearly two hundred and fifty chests of tea into the water.