This sarcasm did not fail in the desired effect. George felt all his animosity rise in his heart against Josiah; and, quickening his pace, they were soon within the quiet bounds of the Quaker’s garden.
They had scarcely begun their cruel devastation, before the Newfoundland dog set out barking in a furious manner.
“Let us return, Simpson,” whispered George; his cheeks blanching with terror as he remembered his rencounter with Rollo, on the preceding morning. “I forgot the dog; he is roused, and we shall certainly be caught.”
George and the Groom destroying the little Quaker’s garden at midnight. p. 29.
“Not we!” calmly replied the groom. “Let him bark,—he cannot hurt us, being chained in an outer yard, that comes against the road; and, as ’tis fair-night, they will only think he is barking at passengers, who may be returning in liquor, at this late hour.”
This was in fact the case; and the inmates of the house paid little regard to the noise Rollo made, though he continued to shake his chain, and growl in a frightful manner.
The garden being small, they soon destroyed most of the shrubs and flowers it contained; till, satiated with mischief, they were about to return; when, passing a root-house covered with ivy and creeping plants, curiosity led them to examine what it contained; and their malice was gratified, in discovering some beautiful foreign rabbits, confined in strong hutches. These they set at liberty, laughing heartily at the idea of what a hunt the young Quaker would have for them in the morning.
As they left the garden, Simpson purposely dropped the hatchet, with Lary’s name on it, near the gate which led to the meadow, where it would be most likely to be discovered; and, safely depositing the other in the place he took it from, they returned home. George re-ascended the ladder, and retired undiscovered to bed; and soon falling asleep, the events of the night appeared more like a troubled dream than reality.
The first rays of the sun had scarcely gilded the low white railing which separated the field from the Quaker’s garden before Josiah had risen from his bed, and returned thanks to God, who had thus graciously permitted him to behold, in health and strength, another day; and, with a light heart and clear conscience, he bounded down stairs, to breathe the fresh air, and to hail the first beauties of a fine morning in June.