“They hung Lion up by the heels!” said Phin, getting behind his father, for he had a chronic dread of the Huswick tribe.
“I’d tie you up by the heels too,” said Cub, with a peculiar smile, “if ’t wa’n’t Sunday!”
Whereupon Mr. Pipkin, who had been on the point of expressing an opinion, concluded to remain silent; the ruffians might forget what day it was!
“Well, come, boys; I don’t see that we can do anything,” said the deacon. “We may as well go home.”
They walked back past the tree which Hod, in his imperfect attire, was still clubbing for the obstinate trousers, getting mad at them finally, and pelting them as if they were to blame for sitting there so quietly on the limb, in spite of him. Mr. Pipkin, out of respect to Jack’s grief, took up the basket and frock and carried them; while Jack lingered behind with Lion, pondering dark thoughts.
“Come, boy! you’d better go home,” said Mr. Chatford, coaxingly. “Don’t be down-hearted. It’ll turn out right or be made up to you somehow, if you meet it in the right spirit, I’m confident.”
“I’ll be there pretty soon,—I can’t go just yet,” replied Jack, dissatisfied with everybody and everything; and he wandered off by himself in the woods, brooding upon his wrongs.