"How
c--c--could I have sh--shot anything at y--y--your old horse?"
"Horse--ah!" said his father. A light broke upon him, and his face
grew stern. "What did you throw at Mazeppa to lame him? Answer me at
once."
Bunty gave a shuddering glance at the whip.
"N-n-nothin'," he answered--"n--nothin' at all. My c--c--cricket
b--ball was up in the st--st--stables. I was only p--p--playin'
marbles." The Captain gave him a little shake.
"Did you lame Mazeppa with the cricket ball?" he said sternly.
"N--n--no I n--never," Bunty whispered, white to the lips. Then
semi-repentance came to him, and he added: "It just rolled out of my
p--p---pocket, and M--Mazeppa was passing and h--h--hit his l-leg on it."
"Speak the truth, or I'll thrash you within an inch of your life," the
Captain said, standing up, and seizing Esther's whip: "Now then, sir--was
it you lamed Mazeppa?"
"Yes," said Bunty, bursting into a roar of crying, and madly dodging
the whip.
Then, as the strokes descended on his unhappy shoulders, he filled
the air with his familiar wail of "'Twasn't me, 'twasn't my fault!"
"You contemptible young cur!" said his father, pausing a moment when
his arm ached with wielding the whip.
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