And all the White Wyandottes took up the cry:
"Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut—you'll get it."
Jehosophat wished he were as small as Hop-o'-my-Thumb, so that he could creep through the keyhole and never be seen at all.
But he had one friend left—little Wienerwurst, who frisked up to him just then, wagging his tail. He didn't scold Jehosophat at all, partly because he was so often up to mischief himself. And then little Wienerwurst always stuck by his friends anyway.
For a while nothing more happened, and Jehosophat tiptoed in at the back door. Mother was nowhere to be seen, so over the floor he sneaked.
At every step the water oozed out and slop, splosh, slop, splosh, still went his shoes.
But he reached his room safely, then quickly he rummaged in the drawers of the bureau.
Quiet as a mouse he took off his wet clothes, and put them in the darkest corner of the big closet. Quiet as a mouse he drew on the clean dry ones.
But someone was calling:
"Jehosophat—Je-hos'-o-phat!"