“Well, Master George,” said the groom, “I have hit upon a notable piece of mischief; but I cannot put it into execution without your assistance.”
“You shall certainly have that, Simpson; but tell me first what your plan is?”
“Young Prim is very fond of his garden,” replied the groom; “and lays out all his money in fine shrubs to ornament his favourite spot of ground. The other day, as I was passing the pales, I stopped to watch him at work; the young prig thought, forsooth, that I was admiring his garden, and actually gathered me a fine nosegay, and showed me all his American plants.”
This amiable anecdote of the young Quaker was received by George with peals of insulting laughter; whilst his worthless companion continued—
“Now, Master George, it would go nearer to his heart, and vex him more than any mischief we could devise, to steal out, after the family are in bed, and break all his fine trees.”
George was at first transported at the idea of so full a revenge; then pausing, whilst a secret dread as to the danger of the enterprise stole over his mind, in a hurried voice he said—
“But, Simpson! it will be dark.”
“So much the better,” replied the wicked groom. “Are you afraid any thing will eat you? Besides, it will be moonlight after twelve o’clock.”
“Twelve o’clock!” repeated George, turning pale with apprehension: “I dare not leave the house after midnight!”
“Then let it alone,” replied Dan. “But, Simpson,” said George, in a fawning tone, “cannot you go without me?”