He asked me if I knew anything about
it. I told him I didn't know where it was, but Scotch conscience
compelled me to confess that when I was playing with it I had tied it
to Watch's tail, and that he ran away, dragging it through the grass,
and came back without it. "It must have slipped off his tail," I said,
and so I didn't know where it was. This honest, straightforward little
story made father so angry that he exclaimed with heavy, foreboding
emphasis: "The very deevil's in that boy!" David, who had been playing
with me and was perhaps about as responsible for the loss of the whip
as I was, said never a word, for he was always prudent enough to hold
his tongue when the parental weather was stormy, and so escaped nearly
all punishment. And, strange to say, this time I also escaped, all
except a terrible scolding, though the thrashing weather seemed darker
than ever. As if unwilling to let the sun see the shameful job,
father took me into the cabin where the storm was to fall, and sent
David to the woods for a switch.
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