As a matter of policy, I had always permitted Waddie to have his own way in his dealings with me. If he ordered me to do anything, I did it. If he called me names, I did not retort upon him. It galled me sorely to permit the puppy to ride over me in this manner; to be insulted, kicked, and cuffed at his royal pleasure; but while it was simply a sacrifice of personal pride, or even of self-respect, it did not so much matter. When, however, Waddie and his father wished to brand me as a criminal, and to browbeat me because I would not confess myself guilty of a deed in which I had no hand, my nature revolted. In my indignation, I had made use of some expressions which I had better not have used, and which I should not have used if I had not been suffering under the weight of that sad day’s trials.
I did not care for myself under the displeasure of the mighty man. My mother was a timid woman, and the cloud of misfortunes which was rising over us filled her with dismay. The displeasure of Colonel Wimpleton, the loss of the money, and above all the fear that my father would return to his old habits, were terrors enough for one day, and I wept for her. But what could I do? To confess myself guilty of a crime when I was innocent was the greatest wrong I could do to her and to myself. I would not do that, whatever else I did; and there was no other way to win back the favor of the colonel.
After I had cooled off, I returned to the house, and found my mother more calm than I expected. She had resumed her work; but she looked very sad and troubled. My two sisters had gone to the village, and as yet knew nothing of the misfortunes that were settling down upon our house.
“Wolfert, I am sorry you were so rash,” said my mother, as I seated myself in the kitchen.
“I am sorry myself; but I don’t think it would have made any difference with the colonel if I had been as gentle as a lamb,” I replied.
“Perhaps it would.”
“The colonel wished me to take upon my shoulders the blame, or part of it, of blowing up the canal boat. Nothing less than that would have satisfied them. You can’t wonder that I was mad, after what you heard him say to me. I have eaten dirt before the colonel and his son for years, and I don’t think we have made anything by it; but whether we have or not, I won’t be called a villain and a scoundrel, or confess a thing I didn’t do.”
“Mr. Wimpleton is a very powerful man in Centreport,” added my mother, shaking her head in deprecation of any rash steps.
“I know he is, mother; and I will do anything I can to please him, except sell my own soul; and he hasn’t got money enough to buy that. I’m not going to put my nose into the dirt for him.”
“He may ruin us, Wolfert.”