this time on the calf of the leg. He jumped therefore unexpectedly, and rubbed the spot briskly.
"Sufferin' sassafras, Kilvert Jones! Can't you stand stiddy a minute? First thing you know you 'll be havin' St. Vitus Dance!" complained the old gardener, already exasperated by his young ward's eloquent argument that garden-digging was a ruthless destruction of innocent worm-life, a destruction so horrible to his stern young sense of mercy, he had intimated, that it promised to take the heart out of his day's work.
Pud's backward glance toward the fence held a touch of vindictiveness. His unsuspecting tutor turned away, mumblingly, for the spade that leaned against the grape-arbor. When he hobbled back to the little garden-plot his young grandson had disappeared, as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed him.
"Why,—why, bless my soul, he 's—he 's gone!" ejaculated the old gentleman, weakly, rubbing his chin. And with his hand to his eyes he peered dazedly about.
If the hearing of Pud's grandfather had been
