“There now, don’t you call that a pretty picture, and all made with a truss of straw, and a good-for-nothing youngster?” asked the farmer, turning upon Jack and Phil, who were holding their sides with laughter, so absolutely ludicrous did Andrew appear.
“Go away, all of you, you nasty cowards,” howled Andrew, “if you were not such a sneaking lot, all of you, you would never let me be treated like this.”
“Oh, I say, none of your cheek, old bee-hive,” said Jack, “you chain up, after all the row you’ve kicked up for everyone.”
“I wish I’d kicked up ten times more,” snarled Andrew, “you’re all traitors and snea—”
“Look here, old straw-sides,” said Phil, “you’d better take your punishment meekly, or you may get something worse than that shied at you,” he added, flinging a pellet of grass, which he took care should only shave Andrew’s face.
“Ay, that’s it, my lads, pelt him a bit,” said Busson, “it won’t do him no harm. As I tell him, if I’d had my way, I’d have given him a good lathering last night, but there the women folk interfered, so he has got to do bee-hive penance instead, and get no honey either. Eh, sonny?” and the farmer brought his heavy stick down on Andrew’s straw envelope with a playful energy, which set a cloud of dust whirling about that unfortunate boy’s eyes and nose.
“Get away with you, get away with you,” whimpered Andrew, “if you don’t go soon, I’ll—”
“Make your mind easy, my lad,” said Busson, “we’re all going away now, for it’s not everyone that is so mighty fond of bee-hive company as you. So just you bide nice and quiet there, until such time as I see fit to relieve you, and ponderate over your misdoings, that’s my advice to you. But, just remember, that, perched up aloft as you are, I can keep my weather eye on you from all over the place, so you’d better behave yourself, else it will be the worse for you, and for this here stick too, for it shall be broken in your service then, and no mistake,” and Busson’s laugh was not pleasant to hear. “Now, young ’uns, march off, and leave him to himself.”
“Oh, Andrew,” said Fay, screwing as close to him as she could, “are you very miserable?”
“Get away, I hate you all,” was the spiteful reply.