Not far off stood the house of Mr. Israel Hand, where he guarded the one being he was supposed to love, his little four-year-old orphan grandson. Whether or not he cared for anyone else, it would be hard to say; but there was no questioning the fact that he absolutely worshiped Toddles, as the baby was called. The little one was a blue-eyed, chubby, handsome lad, with long yellow curls and an unlimited capacity for mischief.
As Will passed along the road he saw Toddles playing in the field where Baizley was digging. Presently he was tickled to observe that the child had discovered Baizley's tin dinner pail, hidden in a clump of raspberry bushes. The mischievous little rascal promptly emptied the contents out upon the sward, and then, with his chubby hands full of cheese and pumpkin pie, scampered over to the edge of the pool.
"Pitty pishies! give pishies 'eir dinner! Pishies! Pishies!" cried the gleeful little voice; and splash into the pool went the cheese and pumpkin pie, frightening the "pishies" nearly out of their wits.
Will exploded with laughter; and at the same moment Baizley, looking up from his work, discovered the fate that had befallen his dinner.
Now Will Hen Baizley was in an unusually bad temper. Digging ditches was not a labor he was accustomed to, and it made his back ache. In his best of humors he was a coarse and heartless bully. On this occasion he was filled with rage against the baby depredator. Toddles had annoyed him on several previous occasions, and just now Will's laughter was the one thing best calculated to sting his annoyance into fury. With a roar that frightened Toddles into instant silence, he rushed forward and grabbed the child, giving him a violent cuff on the side of the head.
It happened that Mr. Hand was looking out of the window of his house on the hillside and saw all that happened. With a hoarse cry of rage and terror he rushed out to the rescue. But the house was three or four hundred yards away, and his old knees trembled beneath him as he thought of what the little one might suffer before he could get there.
The poor little fellow was dazed by the blow, and could not get his breath to scream. The next moment Baizley had seized him by the legs and soused him in the pool. When he came out again he found his voice, and a long shriek of pain and terror went through Mr. Hand's heart like a knife.
All this had happened so quickly that Will was unable to hinder it. He was choking with indignant pity, and found himself on the fence and half way across the field before he could yell:
"Drop that, you brute!"
Baizley was too much occupied to hear or heed. He was just about to duck the little one a second time when Will arrived.