“I declare!” said she, in increased vexation, “There’s another knock.  I shan’t get through my washing to-day.”

Again Mrs. Mudge wiped her hands on her apron, and went to the door.

There was nobody there.

I need hardly say that it was Ben, who had knocked both times, and instantly dodged round the corner of the house.

“It’s some plaguy boy,” said Mrs. Mudge, her eyes blazing with anger.  “Oh, if I could only get hold of him!”

“Don’t you wish you could?” chuckled Ben to himself, as he caught a sly glimpse of the indignant woman.

Meanwhile, Squire Newcome had walked along in his usual slow and dignified manner, until he had reached the front door of the Poorhouse, and knocked.

“It’s that plaguy boy again,” said Mrs. Mudge, furiously.  “I won’t go this time, but if he knocks again, I’ll fix him.”

She took a dipper of hot suds from the tub in which she had been washing, and crept carefully into the entry, taking up a station close to the front door.

“I wonder if Mrs. Mudge heard me knock,” thought Squire Newcome.  “I should think she might.  I believe I will knock again.”

This time he knocked with his cane.

Rat-tat-tat sounded on the door.

The echo had not died away, when the door was pulled suddenly open, and a dipper full of hot suds was dashed into the face of the astonished Squire, accompanied with, “Take that, you young scamp!”

“Wh—­what does all this mean?” gasped Squire Newcome, nearly strangled with the suds, a part of which had found its way into his mouth.

“I beg your pardon, Squire Newcome,” said the horrified Mrs. Mudge.  “I didn’t mean it.”

“What did you mean, then?” demanded Squire Newcome, sternly.  “I think you addressed me,—­ahem!—­as a scamp.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you,” said Mrs. Mudge, almost out of her wits with perplexity.

“Come in, sir, and let me give you a towel.  You’ve no idea how I’ve been tried this morning.”

“I trust,” said the Squire, in his stateliest tone, “you will be able to give a satisfactory explanation of this, ahem—­extraordinary proceeding.”

While Mrs. Mudge was endeavoring to sooth the ruffled dignity of the aggrieved Squire, the “young scamp,” who had caused all the mischief, made his escape through the fields.

“Oh, wasn’t it bully!” he exclaimed.  “I believe I shall die of laughing.  I wish Paul had been here to see it.  Mrs. Mudge has got herself into a scrape, now, I’m thinking.”

Having attained a safe distance from the Poorhouse, Ben doubled himself up and rolled over and over upon the grass, convulsed with laughter.

“I’d give five dollars to see it all over again,” he said to himself.  “I never had such splendid fun in my life.”

Presently the Squire emerged, his tall dicky looking decidedly limp and drooping, his face expressing annoyance and outraged dignity.  Mrs. Mudge attended him to the door with an expression of anxious concern.