CHAPTER XVI.
From flowery tenderness?"
"Nell! Nell!" cries the Bull of Basan, rushing headlong into my room, "come down, quick! The governor is chasing Larry?"
Anything more exciting than a race between papa and one of his offspring could not well be imagined. So I fly downstairs in Basan's wake, as eager for the fray as himself. It appears that five minutes ago the governor discovered Larry—aged eleven—seated in the kitchen, on a three-legged stool, eating bread and cheese; and, of course, made a dash at him as a terrier does at a neighbour's cat. But Larry, instead of dutifully yielding himself up to condign punishment, showed a most unexpected spirit, dropped his eatables and bolted out of the back kitchen door, and into a paved walk that runs parallel with the kitchen windows, and about as bad a place as he could well get into, for the only outlet from it is by an entrance to the house higher up, or a return to the same through the kitchen door. The governor is well aware of this fact, and instead of giving a straight chase after the culprit, gravitates between the staircase and the back kitchen, Larry outside, he in; pursuer and pursued plainly visible to each other through the windows. When I arrive upon the scene I find papa, his face purple with rage and amazement, doubling, dodging swearing, dancing; I see a pale but obstinate little face peeping in at the window, and then shooting back; I see the youngsters posted about, evidently divided between delight at Larry's pluck and awful speculations as to his probable fate, one or two servants looking on, who are too much alarmed to offer the assistance the governor thinks it beneath his dignity to ask, though I am much mistaken if a certain hem! from Bridget, the cook, does not warn Larry
