Sam endeavored to persuade Pomp, but he was deaf to persuasion. He squatted down on the snow, and watched the efforts his companion made to extricate the old lady. When she was nearly out he started on a run, and was at a safe distance before Mrs. Payson was in a situation to pursue him.
The old lady shook herself to make sure that no bones were broken. Next, she sent Sam down into the hole to pick up her bag, and then, finding, on a careful examination, that she had recovered everything, even to the blue umbrella, fetched the astonished Sam a rousing box on the ear.
“What did you do that for?” he demanded in an aggrieved tone.
“'Taint half as much as you deserve,” said the old lady. “I'm goin' to your house right off, to tell your mother what you've been a-doin'. Ef you was my child, I'd beat you black and blue.”
“I wish I'd left you down there,” muttered Sam.
“What's that?” demanded Mrs. Payson sharply. “Don't you go to bein' sassy. It'll be the wuss for ye. You'll come to the gallows some time, ef you don't mind your p's and q's. I might 'ave stayed there till I died, an' then you'd have been hung.”
“What are, you jawing about?” retorted Sam. “How could I know you was comin'?”
“You know'd it well enough,” returned the old lady. “You'll bring your mother's gray hairs with sorrer to the grave.”
“She ain't got any gray hairs,” said Sam doggedly.
“Well, she will have some, ef she lives long enough. I once know'd a boy just like you, an' he was put in jail for stealin'.”