“An hour after this, Anderson went to take his loaves out of the oven; but he had no sooner taken down the door than a rich odour of cooked meat greeted his nostrils. Uttering a deep growl, the butler shouted out ‘Sprat!’
“Upon this, a very thin boy, with arms and legs like pipe stems, issued from the kitchen, and came timidly towards his master.
“‘Didn’t I tell you, you young blackguard, that the grouse-pie was to be kept for Sunday? and there you’ve gone and put it to fire to-day.’
“‘The grouse-pie!’ said the boy, in amazement.
“‘Yes, the grouse-pie,’ retorted the indignant butler; and seizing the urchin by the neck, he held his head down to the mouth of the oven.
“‘Smell that, you villain! What did you mean by it, eh?’
“‘Oh, murder!’ shouted the boy, as with a violent effort he freed himself, and ran shrieking into the house. “‘Murder!’ repeated Anderson in astonishment, while he stooped to look into the oven, where the first thing that met his gaze was a human head, whose ghastly visage and staring eyeballs worked and moved about under the influence of the heat as if it were alive.
“With a yell that rung through the whole fort, the horrified butler rushed through the kitchen and out at the front door, where, as ill-luck would have it, Mr. Rogan happened to be standing at the moment. Pitching head first into the small of the old gentleman’s back, he threw him off the platform and fell into his arms. Starting up in a moment, the governor dealt Anderson a cuff that sent him reeling towards the kitchen door again, on the steps of which he sat down, and began to sing out, ‘Oh, murder, murder! the oven, the oven!’ and not another word, bad, good, or indifferent, could be got out of him for the next half-hour, as he swayed himself to and fro and wrung his hands.
“To make a long story short, Mr. Rogan went himself to the oven, and fished out the head, along with the loaves, which were, of course, all spoiled.”
“And what was the result?” enquired Harry.