This speech was received with loud peals of laughter by the young gentlemen; and George, with mock gravity, replied—
“Verily, friend, you had better leave off preaching, and join our sport.”
“I never could derive any pleasure from cruelty,” returned Josiah. “Humanity forbids me to join in diversions like these: I would I could persuade George Hope to renounce such practices.”
“So you will not play with us,” said George: “and you have the impudence to insult us, with what you term your good advice. Pray, Mr. Consequence, do you remember to whom you are speaking?”
“Perfectly well,” replied Josiah: “I fear I am wasting my words on the sons of a very good man; I wish, for his sake, they were more like their father.”
Enraged at this speech, George darted forward, and struck Josiah such a violent blow on the head, that it knocked him down; and the spiteful boy was in the act of repeating it, when he was suddenly caught from behind, and thrown with fury to the earth.
A large Newfoundland dog, belonging to Shirley, had followed his master to the field; and, seeing him ill-treated, had thus revenged the insult, with tenfold interest; and, keeping his captive fast down to the ground, continued to growl over him in a frightful manner.
William Hope, who wanted much of the audacity of George, fled terrified towards his own home: when the geese, willing to be revenged in their turn, followed, hissing and screaming at his heels, beating him with their broad beaks and wings; whilst the prostrate George called out in a tone of agony:—
“Josiah, my good fellow, call off your dog, or he will certainly kill me!”
“I find other bodies are as little proof against pain as the poor animals they just now so wantonly tormented,” said Josiah, as he raised the crest-fallen George from the ground.