"But," as the old saying has it, "there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." Before supper-time could draw near, there was a little catastrophe awaiting Seph that he had not counted on.
It arose from the fact that there was a meeting at the church that evening which the Deacon and Mrs. Potter attended, their way lying directly past the school-house. Who ever could have supposed that curiosity would have prompted the two good old people to look in and see what the young folks were about, even though they did not approve of such goings on?
But in the mean time Seph enjoyed himself amazingly. He watched the table longingly; he listened to the fiddle, and danced until he was out of breath; he played chase the squirrel, and had capital fun for an hour or more; then the end was at hand.
While standing in the middle of the floor, hesitating what to take part in next, he happened to notice a face outside one of the windows, and it did not take him more than the thousandth part of a second to recognize the Deacon looking straight at him. It was a tremendous moment, and Seph could almost feel the wool on the top of his head uncurl and rise right up under his hat.
His first impulse was to make a rush for the door. When he crossed the entry door-sill, however, he stubbed one foot, and fell, and the Deacon's hand was on him before he could recover himself.
He led Seph down the road, Mrs. Potter following close behind and pleading for mercy, as mothers do.
But in a moment the mask fell off, and the Deacon, amazed, let go his hold.
"What—!"
Seph did not wait to hear anything more, but ran into the bushes, then leaped over a fence, and ran at his best speed across an acre or two of ploughed ground.
"By golly!" he gasped, dropping down at last exhausted. "I reckon I's glad I'm black dis yere time, anyhow!"