“Ben-ja-min,” said the Squire, sternly,

“What have you been a-doing?”

Ben looked sheepish, but said nothing.

“I repeat, Benjamin, what have you been a-doing?”

“I didn’t mean to,” said Ben.

“That does not answer my interrogatory.  What have you been a-doing?”

“I was chasing the cat,” said Ben, “and she got under the table.  I went after her, and somehow it upset.  Guess my head might have knocked against the legs.”

“How old are you, Benjamin?”

“Fifteen.”

“A boy of fifteen is too old to play with cats.  You may retire to your dormitory.”

“It’s only seven o’clock, father,” said Ben, in dismay.

“Boys that play with cats are young enough to retire at seven,” remarked the Squire, sagaciously.

There was nothing for Ben but to obey.

Accordingly with reluctant steps he went up to his chamber and went to bed.  His active mind, together with the early hour, prevented his sleeping.  Instead, his fertile imagination was employed in devising some new scheme, in which, of course, fun was to be the object attained.  While he was thinking, one scheme flashed upon him which he at once pronounced “bully.”

“I wish I could do it to-night,” he sighed.

“Why can’t I?” he thought, after a moment’s reflection.

The more he thought of it, the more feasible it seemed, and at length he decided to attempt it.

Rising from his bed he quickly dressed himself, and then carefully took the sheet, and folding it up in small compass put it under his arm.

Next, opening the window, he stepped out upon the sloping roof of the ell part, and slid down to the end where he jumped off, the height not being more than four feet from the ground.  By some accident, a tub of suds was standing under the eaves, and Ben, much to his disgust, jumped into it.

“Whew!” exclaimed he, “I’ve jumped into that plaguy tub.  What possessed Hannah to put it in a fellow’s way?”

At this moment the back door opened, and Hannah called out, in a shrill voice, “Who’s there?” Ben hastily hid himself, and thought it best not to answer.

“I guess ’twas the cat,” said Hannah, as she closed the door.

“A two-legged cat,” thought Ben, to himself; “thunder, what sopping wet feet I’ve got.  Well, it can’t be helped.”

With the sheet still under his arm, Ben climbed a fence and running across the fields reached the fork of the road.  Here he concealed himself under a hedge, and waited silently till the opportunity for playing his practical joke arrived.

I regret to say that Mr. Mudge, with whom we have already had considerable to do, was not a member of the temperance society.  Latterly, influenced perhaps by Mrs. Mudge’s tongue, which made his home far from a happy one, he had got into the habit of spending his evenings at the tavern in the village, where he occasionally indulged in potations that were not good for him.  Generally, he kept within the bounds of moderation, but occasionally he exceeded these, as he had done on the present occasion.