"Oh, missus, I's most dead," was the reply, accompanied by a
groan. " 'Spect I sha'n't live till mornin'. Dunno what'll become
of poor Pomp when I'se gone."
Little Pomp squeezed his knuckles into his eyes and responded
with an unearthly howl.
"Don't be too much frightened, Chloe," said Mrs. Frost
soothingly. "You'll get over it sooner than you think. How did
the pail happen to turn over?"
"Must have been de debbel, missus. I was kerryin' it just as
keerful, when all at once it upsot."
This explanation, though not very luminous to her visitor,
appeared to excite a fierce spirit of resentment against the pail
in the mind of little Pomp.
He suddenly rushed forward impetuously and kicked the pail with
all the force he could muster.
But, alas for poor Pomp! His feet were unprotected by shoes, and
the sudden blow hurt him much more than the pail. The consequence
was a howl of the most distressing nature.
Frank had started forward to rescue Pomp from the consequences of
his precipitancy, but too late.
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