“Yes, ma’am, and I’m sorry for it, but he struck me with a whip first.”
“No doubt he had a good reason for doing it. And so you tried to murder him, you young ruffian?”
“No, I didn’t, Mrs. Badger. He had no right to whip me, and I defended myself. But I’m sorry——”
Andrew set up another howl, though he no longer felt any pain, and his mother’s wrath increased.
“You’ll end your life on the gallows, you young brute!” she exclaimed, glaring wrathfully at the poor boy. “Some night you’ll try to murder us all in our beds. The only place for you is in jail! When Mr. Badger comes home, I will report the case to him. Now, go to work.”
Poor Bill was glad to get away from the infuriated woman.
Andrew was taken into the house and fed on preserves and sweetmeats by his doting mother, while the poor bound boy was toiling in the hot sun, dreading the return of his stern master.
Nathan Badger was not far away. He had driven to the village in the buggy, not that he had any particular business there, but at present there was no farm work of a pressing nature except what the bound boy could do, and Mr. Badger did not love work for its own sake.
In spite of his parsimony, he generally indulged himself in a glass of bitters, of which he was very fond, whenever he went to the village. His parsimony stood him in good stead in one respect, at least, for it prevented his becoming a drunkard.
I have said that Mr. Badger had no particular business at the village, but this is not strictly true. He had business at the post office.