"You ungrateful child!" said Mrs. Ducklow, not without reason, for Taddy knew very well--at least he was reminded of the fact often enough--that he owed to them his home and all its comforts. "Wouldn't be going to bed when you don't want to! You wouldn't be going to bed when you want to, more likely; for ten to one you wouldn't have a bed to go to. Think of the sitewation you was in when we adopted ye, and then talk that way!" As this was an unanswerable argument, Taddy contented himself with thrusting a hand into his trousers and recklessly increasing the area of the forthcoming patch. "If she likes to mend so well, let her!" thought he. "Taddy, are you tearing them pants?" cried Mrs. Ducklow sharply, hearing a sound alarmingly suggestive of cracking threads. "I was pullin' 'em off," said Taddy. "I never see such mean cloth! can't touch it, but it has to tear.--Say, ma, do ye think he'll bring me home a drum?" "You'll know in the morning." "I want to know to-night. He said mabby he would. Say, _can't_ I set up?" "I'll let ye know whether you can set up, after you've been told so many times!" So saying, Mrs. Ducklow rose from her chair, laid down her knitting-work, and started for the stairway-door with great energy and a rattan. But Taddy, who perceived retribution approaching, did not see fit to wait for it. He darted up the stairs and crept into his bunk with the lightness and agility of a squirrel. "I'm a-bed! Say, ma, I'm a-bed!" he cried, eager to save the excellent lady the trouble of ascending the stairs. "I'm 'most asleep a'ready!" "It 's a good thing for you you be!" said Mrs. Ducklow, gathering up the garment he had left behind the door. "Why, Taddy, how you did tear it! I've a good notion to give ye a smart trouncing now!" Taddy began to snore, and Mrs. Ducklow concluded that she would not wake him. "It _is_ mean cloth, as he says!" she exclaimed, examining it by the kerosene lamp. "For my part, I consider it a great misfortin that shoddy was ever invented. Ye can't buy any sort of a ready-made garment for boys now-days but it comes to pieces at the least wear or strain, like so much brown paper." She was shaping the necessary patch, when the sound of wheels coming into the yard told her that the person so long waited for had arrived. "That you?" said she, opening the kitchen-door and looking out into the darkness. "Yes," replied a man's voice. "Ye want the lantern?" "No: jest set the lamp in the winder, and I guess I can git along. Whoa!" And the man jumped to the ground. "Had good luck?" the woman inquired in a low voice. "I'll tell ye when I come in," was the evasive answer. "Has he bought me a drum?" bawled Taddy from the chamber-stairs. "Do you want me to come up there and 'tend to ye?" demanded Mrs. Ducklow. The boy was not particularly ambitious of enjoying that honor. "You be still and go to sleep, then, or you'll git _drummed_!"