If we'd had any neighbors except a deaf old man, a woman who never left her bed, and two young men who went to work three miles away, I suppose we'd soon have had a crowd around us, but as it was, nobody appeared but a little girl with a hunk of bread, the sight of which caused Thad to stop hollowing, and declare that we must bring him something to eat.
When I had opened and shut my mouth several times, pointing my finger down it and then at Thad, the cook comprehended what was wanted, and rushing outside of the fence, put that bunch of garlic right under my brother's nose.
"Pah!" he exclaimed, and wrenched his head back so suddenly that I half expected to see both his ears drop off.
"Oh dear," I groaned, "if he can't free himself with such a jerk as that we can never get him out at all."
Then recollecting that Thad hated the smell of garlic as much as I did, and seeing that the cook was still trying to feed him with it, I motioned sternly toward the house, and ordered her to "departez," which wasn't hard to say, as you just take an English word and put a little French end to it.
She understood me at once, and seemed to feel quite insulted, for she walked straight back to the kitchen, slamming the gate after her.
The next minute somebody slapped me on the shoulder, and turning, I jumped as if I had seen a ghost, for it was Thad, and I was at least five feet from the fence. You see, when the gate was open the space between those two particular bars was a little smaller than when it was shut. Thad and I might have remained in that pickle for any length of time, he screaming at the top of his voice, and I dancing around him in agony. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find out that all we had to do was to shut the gate, if that woman hadn't got mad and given it such an awful slam?