One day, to my father's horror, I candidly remarked,
"It always makes me think of the first of April, sir, when you're
here."
I did not mean to be rude. It was simply true that the succession of
"sells" and practical jokes of which Rubens and I were the victims
during his visits did recall the tricks supposed to be sacred to the
Festival of All Fools.
To do the old gentleman justice, he heartily enjoyed the joke at his
own expense; laughed and took snuff in extra proportions, and gave me
a whole guinea instead of half a one, saying that I should go to live
with him in Fools' Paradise, where little pigs ran about ready roasted
with knives and forks in their backs; adding more banter and nonsense
of the same kind, to the utter bewilderment of my brain.
He was the occasion of my playing truant to the Rectory a second time.
Once, when he was expected, I took my nightshirt from my pillow, and
followed by Rubens, presented myself before the Rector as he sat at
breakfast, saying, "Mr. Carpenter is coming, and we can't endure it.
We really can't endure it. And please, sir, can you give us a bed for
the night? And I'm very sorry it isn't a clean one, but Nurse keeps
the nightgowns on the top shelf, and I didn't want her to know we were
coming.
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