“I declare I’ve a great mind to go out to the stable this minute,” said the judge.
“Well, if you do go, you won’t whip him, my dear: so I advise you to take brother Rufus with you.”
“Rufus, indeed! Why, I’m not quite a baby,” said the judge, springing out of bed: “if I make up my mind to whip that dog, I can do it.”
I dare say if Mrs. Pitcher had not spoken of calling uncle Rufus, her husband would not have gone, and then Beppo would not have been punished.
I must confess he did not hurt the dog one bit. Beppo did not feel the horse-whip any more than if it had been a wisp of straw; but he hung his head in grief, for it was the first blow he had ever received. When all was over, he gave a side-glance at his master, as if to say, “I’ll never do so again: I won’t bark any more.” And then he lay down very meekly on a cushion of hay; and the judge went back to bed, thinking he had done his duty, but feeling sorry enough to cry.
There was no more noise that night from Beppo; though two or three carriages passed, and he must have heard them, and wanted to bark.
Next morning he lingered about the yard, ashamed to come into the house.
“Poor fellow, he takes it to heart!” said the judge; and then told what happened.