"Let him pound, the brute!" answered Ted, defiantly. "Anyway, I don't suppose you are going to let him handle me too rough! I dare say he won't actually punch me, for fear of getting into a row with you--though" (and here a wicked twinkle came into Ted's eye, for he knew the pugnacity that lurked in his big brother's scientific nature), "though he does say he can particularly knock the stuffing out of you!"
"Dear me," murmured Will, grinning thoughtfully. "If he talks to you about it, tell him there isn't any stuffing in me to speak of."
During this conversation the boys had both, for a few minutes, forgotten to watch the seat under the elm tree. Suddenly Ted glanced up, a thrill of mingled apprehension and delight went through him as he saw Mr. Israel Hand approaching the fatal spot.
"Look, quick!" he exclaimed, in a gleeful whisper.
Will looked. But Will was not amused.
"Hi! there! Don't sit down, Mr. Hand! Don't!" He yelled, jumping into the air and waving his hay rake to attract additional attention.
But it was too late!
Mr. Israel Hand was tired and hot from his walk up the hill. He was vexed, too, at the prospect of a disagreeable interview with Mrs. Carter, who would not understand business matters. The seat beneath the elm was a most inviting place. From it he could see the whole farm which he meant presently to annex to his own broad acres. He was on the point of seating himself when he heard Will's yell. He had a vague consciousness that the boys did not love him, to say the least of it. He concluded they were now making game of him. Why shouldn't he sit down? If it was their seat now, it would soon be his, anyway.
"Impudent young scoundrels!" he muttered, and sat down firmly.
As the boys saw him crash through, and disappear, all but his head and heels, in a great splash of leaves and blossoms and muddy water, Ted fairly shrieked with uncontrollable mirth. But as for Will, he was too angry to see the fun of the situation.