“Lor’, missus, you’ll whip me.  You said you would.”

“So I will, I vum,” retorted the irate old lady, rather undiplomatically.  “As true as I live, I’ll whip you till you can’t stan’.”

As she spoke, she brandished her umbrella in a menacing manner.

“Den, missus, I guess you’d better stay where you is.”

“Oh, you imp.  See ef I don’t have you put in jail.  Here, you, Sam Thompson, come and help me out.  Ef you don’t, I’ll tell your mother, an’ she’ll give you the wust lickin’ you ever had.  I’m surprised at you.”

“You won’t tell on me, will you?” said Sam, irresolutely.

“I’ll see about it,” said the old lady, in a politic tone.

She felt her powerlessness, and that concession must precede victory.

“Then, give me the umbrella,” said Sam, who evidently distrusted her.

“You’ll run off with it,” said Mrs. Payson suspiciously.

“No, I won’t.”

“Well, there ’tis.”

“Come here, Pomp, and help me,” said Sam.

Pomp held aloof.

“She’ll whip me,” he said, shaking his head.  “She’s an old debble.”

“Oh, you—­you sarpint!” ejaculated the old lady, almost speechless with indignation.

“You can run away as soon as she gets out,” suggested Sam.

Pomp advanced slowly and warily, rolling his eyes in indecision.

“Jest catch hold of my hands, both on ye,” said Mrs. Payson, “an’ I’ll give a jump.”

These directions were followed, and the old lady rose to the surface, when, in an evil hour, intent upon avenging herself upon Pomp, she made a clutch for his collar.  In doing so she lost her footing and fell back into the pilt from which she had just emerged.  Her spectacles dropped off and, falling beneath her, were broken.

She rose, half-provoked and half-ashamed of her futile attempt.  It was natural that neither of these circumstances should effect an improvement in her temper.

“You did it a purpose,” she said, shaking her fist at Pomp, who stood about a rod off, grinning at her discomfiture.  “There, I’ve gone an’ broke my specs, that I bought two years ago, come fall, of a pedler.  I’ll make you pay for ’em.”

“Lor’, missus, I ain’t got no money,” said Pomp.  “Nebber had none.”

Unfortunately for the old lady, it was altogether probable that Pomp spoke the truth this time.

“Three and sixpence gone!” groaned Mrs. Payson.  “Fust my bunnit, an’ then my specs.  I’m the most unfort’nit’ crittur.  Why don’t you help me, Sam Thompson, instead of standin’ and gawkin’ at me?” she suddenly exclaimed, glaring at Sam.

“I didn’t know as you was ready,” said Sam.  “You might have been out before this, ef you hadn’t let go.  Here, Pomp, lend a hand.”  Pomp shook his head decisively.

“Don’t catch dis chile again,” he said.  “I’m goin’ home.  Ole woman wants to lick me.”

Sam endeavored to persuade Pomp, but he was deaf to persuasion.  He squatted down on the snow, and watched the efforts his companion made to extricate the old lady.  When she was nearly out he started on a run, and was at a safe distance before Mrs. Payson was in a situation to pursue him.