“I cannot endure this much longer,” said old Mr. King, growing white around the mouth, and wishing he had strength for one-half the exclamations he felt inwardly capable of.  Outside, honest Mr. Tisbett was taking solid comfort in the reflection that he was teaching a rich city man that he could not approach with anything less than respect a citizen of Badgertown.

“Ain’t I as good as he?” cried Mr. Tisbett to himself, with an extra cut to the off horse, as he spied a sharp ragged edge of ice along the cart track in front of him.  “Now that’s good; that’ll shake him,” he added cheerfully.  “Land! but I hain’t been spoke to so since I was sassed at school by Jim Bently, and then I licked him enough to pay twice over.  G’lang there—­easy!”

The first thing he knew, one of the glass windows was shivered to fragments; the bits flying off along the quiet road, to fall a gleaming shower upon the snow.

“Whoa!” called Mr. Tisbett, to his smoking horses, and leaning over, he cried, “What’s the matter in there?”

“The matter is,” said Jasper, putting his face out, “that as I could not possibly make you hear my calls, I chose to break the window.  Have the goodness to let my father and me at once out of this vehicle.”

Mr. Tisbett got down slowly over the wheel.  “Beg your pardon,” he said awkwardly, pulling open the door, “ain’t you goin’ to ride back?”

“Heavens!” cried Mr. King.  He was glad to find he could ejaculate so much as he tremblingly worked his way out to terra firma.  “Nothing on earth would tempt me to step foot inside there again.”

“Here is the money for your window,” said Jasper, putting a bill into the fur mitten, covering Mr. Tisbett’s brawny right hand.  “Kindly bring our traps to the little brown house; here, father, take my arm,” and he ran after the tall figure, picking its way along the frozen road.

“Hey—­what’s this?” exclaimed Mr. Tisbett, looking into the center of his fur mitten, “five dollars!  Gee—­thumps!  I ain’t a-goin’ to take it, after shaking that old party almost to pieces.”

He stood staring at the bill in stupid perplexity till the uneasy movements of his horses warned him that his position was not exactly the proper one for a stage-driver who was on his box from morning till night, so he clambered over the wheel, full of vexed thoughts, and carefully tucked the bill under the old cushion before he took his seat.

“Ill give it back to him, that’s cert’in,” he said, picking up the reins, “and p’raps they’ve had enough walkin’ so they’ll let me pick ’em up,” which raised him out of his depression not a little.

But the stern faces of the old gentleman and the tall boy smote him with a chill, long before he passed them, and he drove by silently, well knowing it would not do to broach the subject by so much as a look.

Not daring to go near the little brown house without the occupants of the stage who had driven down the road with him, Mr. Tisbett drew up miserably to a convenient angle, and waited till the two came up.  Then without trusting himself to think, he sprang to the ground, and with shame written all over his honest face, called out, “See here, you young chap, I want to speak to you, when you’ve got him in the house.”