“Hold on to the twin!” called Miss Caxton's father. “Do you wish him to fall?”
What activity the little boys possessed was dispelled by their father's evident anger. They sat upon the ridge of the roof, motionless and speechless. Their parent inspected the premises.
“How in the name of sense did you get up there?”
A sob from Leander was the only answer. Thaddeus and Roderick maintained a discreet silence.
Miss Caxton's father was a very busy man for the next fifteen minutes. He obtained a long pole and poked the little boys off the roof, one at a time, beginning with the twin; then as they rolled from the shed he ran and caught them. A good deal of physical energy was required in the operation, and when Roderick was dislodged, he being the last, Miss Caxton's parent was hot and exhausted; there was also a baleful gleam in his eyes, suggestive of the wrath to come.
He picked up the twin, whose small lungs seemed to distil shrieks, and followed by the little boys who sulked at his side, entered the house. During the next hour or two he gained a larger experience in the pure joys of domestic life than are usually crowded into so brief a period.
He gave Roderick and Thaddeus their supper—and something else as well—and put them to bed. Then he took Leander in hand, and tried to get his faculties into a condition for sleep.
The twin refused to be comforted; he wanted Miss Caxton, and Miss Caxton only. It was the burden of his woes. His father looked at him. In his glance paternal love seemed to be in abeyance.
“You'd better make up your mind to going to bed without her, for she's put you to sleep for the last time.”
Whereat Leander howled afresh.