“I’ll be much obliged to you, Mrs. Murphy, if you’ll mind your own business,” said granny, loftily. “When I want your advice, mum, I’ll come and ask it; begging your pardon, mum.”
“She’s a tough craythur,” said Mrs. Murphy to herself. “She beats that poor child too bad entirely.”
Granny drew Tom into the room with no gentle hand.
“Now you’re goin’ to catch it,” said she, grimly.
Tom was of the same opinion, and meant to defend herself as well as she knew how. She had all her wits about her, and had already planned out her campaign.
On the chair was a stout stick which granny was accustomed to use on such occasions as the present. When wielded by a vigorous arm, it was capable of inflicting considerable pain, as Tom very well knew. That stick she determined to have.
Accordingly when granny temporarily released her hold of her, as she entered the room, Tom sprang for the chair, seized the stick, and sent it flying out of the window.
“What did you do that for?” said granny, fiercely.
“I don’t want to be licked,” said Tom, briefly.
“You’re going to be, then.”