"You rascal! How you scared me!"

Seating himself in the wagon, Ducklow gently pulled up his trousers-leg
to look at the bruised part.

"Got anything in your boot-leg to-day, Pa Ducklow?" asked Taddy,
innocently.

"Yes,--a barked shin!--all on your account, too! Go and put that straw
back, and fix the carpet; and don't ye let me hear ye speak of my
boot-leg again, or I'll boot-leg ye!"

So saying, Ducklow departed.

Instead of repairing the mischief he had done in the sitting-room, Taddy
devoted his time and talents to the more interesting occupation of
constructing his kite-frame. He worked at that until Mr. Grantly, the
minister, driving by, stopped to inquire how the folks were.

"Ain't to home: may I ride?" cried Taddy, all in a breath.

Mr. Grantly was an indulgent old gentleman, fond of children: so he
said, "Jump in;" and in a minute Taddy had scrambled to a seat by his
side.

And now occurred a circumstance which Ducklow had foreseen. The alarm of
fire had reached Reuben's; and, although the report of its falseness
followed immediately, Mrs. Ducklow's inflammable fancy was so kindled by
it that she could find no comfort in prolonging her visit.