“What were you going to do with that broom?” demanded the other, suspiciously.
“What was I going to do? I was going to thrash that rascally boy of mine, and Mrs. Bickford knew it perfectly well.”
“What has he done?”
“He? He's spoiled a trade of mine by his lying, and I was going to flog him for it, when Mrs. Bickford got in my way.”
“Well,” said the visitor, shrugging his shoulders, “I don't want to interfere in your affairs. I suppose that you've a right to flog the boy, but it strikes me that a broom handle is rather an ugly weapon.”
“It isn't half heavy enough,” said Abner, savagely; “but where is the boy? Did you see him?”
“Given leg-bail, I reckon, and I don't wonder at it.”
“Run away?” ejaculated Abner, disappointed. “Did you see where he went?”
“No, I didn't, and if I had, I'm not sure that I would tell you.”
Abner would like to have thrashed the man who showed so little sympathy with his anger, but he felt that it would hardly be prudent. He went to the door and looked out. But there was no trace of Herbert to be discovered.