“I promise,” she uttered faintly.
“Speak up!” bellowed Magog. “I can’t hear you for the noise.”
“I promise,” replied Placida, in a loud and peevish voice. “That won’t do,” rejoined her husband. “Speak as you used to do before I married you, and let the others hear you.”
“Yes—yes,” cried Og, drawing near with the rest, “we must all hear it, that we may be witnesses hereafter. You promise to amend your conduct, and let our brother live peaceably?”
“I do—I do,” replied Placida, in a penitential tone.
“Enough,” replied Magog. And putting out his arm behind to his wife he covered her retreat, and then suddenly turning upon Max, kicked him into the cage, and fastened the door.
Much laughter among the male portion of the company ensued. But Dame Potentia looked rather grave, and privately intimated to her husband her desire, or rather command, that he should go home. As Peter Trusbut took his departure, he whispered to Hairun, “If ever you think of marrying, I advise you to take good care of old Max. I wish I could borrow him for a day or two.”
“You shall have him, and welcome,” returned the bearward, laughing.
“Thank you—thank you,” answered the pantler, dejectedly. “Mine is a hopeless case.”
Dame Placida appeared so much subdued, that at last Magog took compassion upon her, and led her away, observing to the bearward, “For my sake bestow a plentiful supper on Max. He has done me a good turn, and I would fain requite it.”