The Merryweathers Part 6

"Beretta!"

"I give in!" cried the Colonel. "I cannot think of another thing, so I continue the tale.

"This odious person, after pa.s.sing me in the unmannerly fashion described, was about to proceed further; but I, seizing him by the coat collar, lifted my stout stick, and gave him a good sound--"

"Thrashing!"

"Licking!"

"Beating!"

"Chastis.e.m.e.nt!"

"Hiding!"

"Walloping!"

"Whipping!"

"Scourging!"

"Drubbing!"

"Trouncing!"

"Thwacking!"

"Lashing!"

"Flogging!"

"Caning!"

"Larruping!"

"Fustigating!"

"Basting!"

"Leathering!"

"Thumping!"

"Whopping!"

"Rib-roasting!"

"Dear me!" cried Mrs. Merryweather. "This is rather terrible, I think.

There seem to be more terms to express personal violence than anything else."

"We haven't begun to give them all, either!" said Phil. "If we are allowed to use modern slang--I know you prefer ancient, Mammy--"

"I know you are a saucy boy!" said his mother.

"My dear friends," said the Chief, rising. "This is all very fine: but the simple fact is, it is beginning to rain, and I think it advisable for us to beat, fustigate, (where _did_ you get that, Miranda?) or wallop, a retreat!"

Then there was scrambling up, and running to and fro, and gathering up of baskets and shawls. The good old horse, which had been grazing peacefully in a clearing hard by, was harnessed, and Mr. and Mrs.

Merryweather, Colonel Ferrers, and the _impedimenta_ bundled in and off as hastily as might be. Finally, as the rain began to pour down in good earnest, the younger campers gathered into a solid phalanx and walked home across the fields, singing in chorus, and informing all whom it might concern that they were

"Marching along, Fifty score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!"

CHAPTER V.

KITTY AND w.i.l.l.y

"MA!" said w.i.l.l.y Merryweather.

"Baa!" replied his mother, without looking up from her writing.

w.i.l.l.y fidgeted, and looked over his shoulder. "Mammy, I wish you would speak to Kitty."

"Speak to Kitty? certainly. How do you do, Kitty?"

w.i.l.l.y looked uncomfortable, but went on.

"I spoke for the Rangeley boat, and now she wants it. She always wants it, and it isn't fair."

"I don't always want it, w.i.l.l.y! I haven't been in it for two days. I think you are very unkind."

By this time Mrs. Merryweather had finished her sentence; she looked up, and surveyed the two children with a half-abstracted gaze.

"Who are you?" she asked, abruptly. "I thought Kitty and w.i.l.l.y were here."

Kitty took hold of the hem of her ap.r.o.n, and w.i.l.l.y felt of the knife in his pocket.

"Who are you?" repeated Mrs. Merryweather in a tone of wonder. "You should always answer a question, you know."

"We are Kitty and w.i.l.l.y ourselves!" murmured the children, the red beginning to creep around their ears.

"Oh, no!" said Mrs. Merryweather, reprovingly. "Don't say such things as that, my dears. I know Kitty and w.i.l.l.y perfectly well; they are brother and sister, two cheerful, affectionate children, who love each other. I don't know anything about you two; run away, please, for I am busy."

As the children moved slowly away, she called after them: "If you should see Kitty and w.i.l.l.y, you might send them to me, if you please!"

Round on the other side of the big oak-tree, sheltered from the eyes that looked so abstractedly over their gla.s.ses, w.i.l.l.y rubbed his shoulders uncomfortably against the bark, while Kitty kicked a bit of stick to and fro.