"Did you call?" said Mrs. Peakslow, trembling with joy and fright.
"Call?" echoed Peakslow, feeling his left shoulder with his right hand. "I believe I b'en callin' there for the last half-hour. What was ye knockin' that ruf to pieces for? I could hear ye, an' see ye, an' I wanted to put a stop to 't. Hadn't the wind damaged me enough, but you must pitch in?"
"We thought you were under the ruins," Mr. Betterson replied with dignity.
"Thought I was under the ruins! What made ye think that?" growled Peakslow.
"I thought so—I told them so," Mrs. Peakslow explained; while Lord Betterson walked away with calm disgust.
"Ye might 'a' knowed better'n that! Here I was under this ruf all the time. It come over on to me like a great bird, knocked me down with a flop of its wing,—mos' broke my shoulder, I believe; an' when I come to myself, and peeked through a crack, there was a crew knockin' the ruf o' the house to flinders. I was too weak to call very loud, but, if you'd cared much, I should think ye might 'a' heard me. Look a' that house, now! look a' that shed! It's the blastedest luck!"
Jack couldn't help smiling. Peakslow turned upon him furiously.
"You here? So ye think my boy's a thief, do ye?"
"Come, Lion! come, boys!" said Jack, and started to follow Mr. Betterson, without more words.
"Come here and 'cuse my boy o' stealin'!" said Peakslow, turning, and looking all about him, as if he had hardly yet regained his senses. "I had a hat somewheres. Hundred dollars—no, nor two hundred—won't pay the damage done to me this day."