This method of dealing with the would-be or actual fruit-filchers had one advantage, so far as Mrs. Grundy was concerned—it gave her a sharer in the burden of her unpopularity, which perhaps might otherwise have proved insupportable; for so hard, cold, and unsympathetic was Squire Hardgrit, and such evident pleasure did he take in imposing his penalties, that if the Westville boys hated anybody as cordially as they did Mrs. Grundy, it was certainly the stern, severe squire.
For some time past the relations between these two worthies and the boys had, as the newspapers say about the great Powers, been more than usually strained. Not content with fiercely defending her garden and orchard from juvenile depredation, Mrs. Grundy had asserted her right to keep everybody off the broad, smooth plot of grass that lay between her cottage and the road, and had been upheld in her claim by the squire, to the profound disgust of the boys, who had long made it their gathering-place in the summer evenings; for although too small to play a game of baseball upon, it was big enough for pitching and catching, chase, leap-frog, and that sort of thing.
This appropriation of the grass plot, which had hitherto been regarded as public property, was quite too much for the boys. It was the last drop in the cup of bitterness, and in desperation they called a meeting to be held in Thompson's barn on Saturday night to consider the situation.
Saturday night came, and a dozen of the brightest boys of Westville gathered in solemn conclave around a lantern to see if some way could not be devised of getting even with Mrs. Grumpy and the squire.
As the barn belonged to his father, Charlie Thompson was chosen chairman, and he promptly opened the meeting as follows:—
"Now, fellows, we can't stand this sort of thing any longer. Something must be done, if we perish in the attempt. The honour of the country demands" (Charlie, whose memory was particularly good, had not yet forgotten the last 4th of July oration) "that measures should be taken to show to our oppressors that we are not slaves and cowards. The meeting is now open, and the chair will be pleased to receive suggestions."
And amid a vigorous round of boot-heel applause Charlie sat down, feeling that he had proved himself quite equal to the occasion.
For a few moments there was a dead pause, all having some sort of a scheme, more or less hazy, in their heads, but none wishing to speak first.
At last little Tommy Short, the youngest in the group, piped out,—
"Let's tar and feather 'em. Father has lots of tar in his back shop, and I know where there's a big pot."