“Now, who would think the little demons would treat the old one with respect?” said Pet, musingly, but in an exceedingly audible tone. “I never knew they were so polite down there, before.”
“Young woman,” began Goody, with kindling eyes, when Pet interrupted her impatiently with:
“Look here, now! old Goody Two-Shoes, I ain’t a young woman, and I never intend to be; and I’d thank you not to keep calling me out of my name. I’m Miss Petronilla Lawless, and if it’s not too much trouble, I’d feel grateful to you if you’d call me so. There!”
“Good gracious! Miss Pet, take care!” whispered Mr. Toosypegs, who, gray with terror, had been all this time crouching out of sight, in a corner; “it’s real dangerous to rouse her; she might bring the roof down about our heads, and kill us all, if you angered her.”
“Who is that young man?” said the old woman, in an appalling voice, as she slowly raised her finger, and pointed it, like a pistol, at the trembling head of Mr. O. C. Toosypegs.
“I—I—I’m Orlando C. Toosypegs, I—I’m very much obliged to you,” stammered Mr. Toosypegs, dodging behind Pet, in evident alarm.
“Young man, come over here,” solemnly said the beldame, keeping her long finger pointed, as if about to take aim, and never removing her chain-lightning eyes from the pallid physiognomy of the unhappy Mr. Toosypegs.
“Go, Horlander,” said Pet, giving him an encouraging push. “Bear it like a man; which means, hold up your head, and take your finger out of your mouth, like a good boy. I’ll stick to you to the last.”
With chattering teeth, trembling limbs, bristling hair, and terror-stricken face, Mr Toosypegs found himself standing before the ancient sibyl, by dint of a series of pushes from the encouraging hand of Pet.
“Young man, wouldst thou know the future?” began the old woman, in a deep, stern, impressive voice.