"I wish these people wouldn't tie up their parcels so tight, as if they were never to be undone," cried he, as he tugged at the cord; and he pulled the knot closer instead of loosening it.
"Ben! Why, how did ye get yours undone, man?—What's in your parcel? I wonder what is in mine! I wish I could get this string off; I must cut it."
"O, no," said Ben, who had now undone the last knot of his parcel, and who drew out the length of string with exultation, "don't cut it, Hal; look what a nice cord this is, and yours is the same; it's a pity to cut it. 'Waste not, want not!' you know."
"Pooh!" said Hal. "What signifies a bit of packthread?"
"It is whip-cord," said Ben.
"Well, whip-cord! What signifies a bit of whip-cord? You can get a bit of whip-cord twice as long as that for two-pence; and who cares for two-pence! Not I, for one! So here it goes," cried Hal, drawing out his knife; and he cut the cord precipitately in sundry places.
"Lads! Have you undone the parcels for me?" said Mr. Gresham, opening the parlour door as he spoke.
"Yes, sir," cried Hal; and he dragged off his half cut, half entangled string—"here's the parcel."
"And here's my parcel, uncle; and here's the string," said Ben.
"You may keep the string for your pains," said Mr. Gresham.