Forgetting Mrs. Busson’s directions as to staying indoors, Jack strayed round to the straw-yard, where he ran up against Mr. Busson.
Not heeding the signs of the times, Jack accosted the farmer—who had rather pointedly turned his back upon him—and asked if they might have the ponies.
The old man turned on him in a fury.
“Now, clear out of this,” he cried, seizing Jack by the ear, “I’ve told the missus, and I’ll tell you, that I’m not going to be walked over in my place by a parcel of ill-behaved youngsters.”
Therewith, he dragged Jack across the yard, pushing him through the gate, and slamming it after him with quite unnecessary violence.
“Bother Andrew,” cried Jack, indignantly, rejoining the others, “I do call it a beastly shame that he has gone and spoilt everything for us. Look here, Phil, he’s done us out of the ponies now, for old Busson has cut up rusty, and won’t let us have them.”
“I’d like to kick Andrew,” said Phil, with more heartiness than heart.
“I think,” said Fay, “that you may leave Andrew to the tender mercies of Nanny and Busson. I expect that he’ll get all that he deserves.”
“I hope to goodness that he will,” said Philip, whose disappointment about the ponies made him very vengeance-thirsty.
“Well,” said Jack, gloomily, “he has made the farmer as cross as a bear with two sore heads.”