“Better not, Bob!” said the old lady. “Better wait a bit!”
“Why, they won’t let me do anything!” grumbled Bob; but he went home without thrashing the butler, all the same.
That was in February, you know. Well, when February was done, March came, and with it came greater ill-fortune than ever; for Bob’s father was driving his master’s horse and cart to market, when, what should jump out of the ditch but old Nanny Jones’s donkey, an ugly beast at the best of times, and enough to frighten any horse; but what must the brute do on this occasion but set up a terrific braying, which sent Farmer Thornycroft’s new horse nearly out of his wits, so that he backed the cart and all that was in it--including Bob’s father--into the ditch. A pretty sight they looked there, for the horse was sitting where the driver ought to be, and Bob’s father was seated, much against his wish, in a large basket full of eggs, with his legs sticking out one side and his head the other.
Of course Farmer Thornycroft did not like to lose his eggs--who would?--for even the most obliging hens cannot be persuaded to lay an extra number in order to make up for those that are broken; but for all that Farmer Thornycroft had no right to lay all the blame on Bob’s father, and stop two shillings out of his week’s wage. So Bob’s father protested, and that made Farmer Thornycroft angry, and then, since fire kindles fire, Bob’s father grew angry too, and called the farmer a cruel brute; so the farmer dismissed him, and gave him no wages at all.
We can hardly be surprised that when Bob heard of all this he felt a trifle out of sorts, but the desire for vengeance which he felt could hardly be justified. He went pelting over the fields, and all the way he went he muttered to himself:
“A cruel shame I call it, but I’ll pay him out; I mean to let his sheep out of the pen, and then I will just go and tell him that I’ve done it.”
Now, the field just before you come to Farmer Thornycroft’s sheep-pen was sown with spring wheat, and they had put up a scarecrow there to frighten the birds away. The scarecrow was very much down in the world--his coat had no buttons and his hat had no brim, and his trousers had only a leg and a half--his well-to-do relations in the tailors’ windows would not have cared to meet him in the street at all. But even the ragged and unfortunate have their feelings, and the scarecrow was truly sorry to see Bob scouring across the field in such a temper; so just as Bob passed him, he flapped out at him with one sleeve, and the boy turned sharply round to see who it was.