"I'm cold," says the latter,—"and wet," with an aguish shiver.
"I should think so!" cries the gentleman, recovering from his alarm, and getting his breath again, as he hears Stephen's step behind him. "Stand back, can't you?" (indignantly). "Don't you see you are dripping on the carpet?"
"I'm so tired!"
"Well! you needn't rub yourself against the door, if you are! Don't you see you are smearing it? What are you roaming about in this way for, intruding into people's houses?"
"Please, Sir, I don't know," is the soft, sad answer; and Fessenden's is meekly taking himself away.
"It's too bad, though!" says the man, relenting. "What can we do with this fellow, Stephen?"
"Send him around to Judge Gingerford's,—I should say that's about the best thing to do with him," says the witty Stephen.
The man knew well what would please. His master's face lighted up. He rubbed his hands, and regarded the vagabond with a humorous twinkle, with malice in it.
"Would you, Stephen? By George, I've a good notion to! Take the umbrella, and go and show him the way."
Stephen did not like that.