They knew he would do it, no matter
what they thought. His method, as usual, was his own. He stepped to the
adjoining field, and, selecting a clod with the steely polish of the
plowshare upon it, threw it at the mare. It struck her on the flank. She
gathered her feet under her in sudden alarm, then slowly relaxed, looked
slyly for the old man, found him, and understanding, suddenly wheeled
and ambled off home, leaving Seffy prone on the ground as her part of
the joke.
The old man brought Seffy in triumph to the store-porch.
"Chust stopped you afore you got to be a anchel!" he was saying. "We
couldn't bear to sink about you being a anchel--an' wiss the anchels
stand--a harp upon your forehead, a crown within your hand, I
expect--when it's corn-planting time."
Seffy grinned cheerfully, brushed off the dust and contemplated his
father's watch--held accusingly against him. Old Baumgartner went on
gaily.
"About an inch and a half apast ten! Seffy, I'm glad you ain't breaking
your reputation for being fastnachtich. Chust about a quarter of an inch
too late for the prize wiss flour on its hair and arms and its frock
pinned up to show its new petticoat! Uhu! If I had such a nice
petticoat--" he imitated the lady in question, to the tremendous delight
of the gentle loafers.
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