a second time, and gave it a
terrible wrench. Adams roared like a bull of Bashan, but Toc's heart
was hardened now; he wrenched again--a long, strong, and steady pull.
The martyr howled as if his spinal marrow were being extracted. Toc
suddenly staggered back; his arm flew up, displaying a bloody tooth with
three enormous fangs. The "old 'ooman" shrieked, the child on the
window-sill fell again therefrom in convulsions, and the others fled
panic-struck into the woods, where they displayed their imitative
tendencies and relieved their feelings by tearing up wild shrubs by the
roots, amid yells and roars of agony, during the remainder of the day.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

TELLS OF AN IMPORTANT MATTER.

Not very long after this, Thursday October Christian experienced at the
hands of John Adams treatment which bore some slight resemblance to a
species of tooth-drawing. In fact, Adams may be said to have had his
revenge. It happened thus:--

Adams was seated, one afternoon, in front of his house on a low stool,
where he was wont to sun himself and smoke an imaginary pipe, while the
children were at play in the grassy square. He was absorbed,
apparently, in what he used to term a brown study. Thursday October,
making his appearance from among the bushes on the opposite side of the
square, leaped the four-foot fence like a greyhound, without a run, and
crossed over.

Whether it was the leap or the rate at which he had walked home through
the woods, we cannot say; but his handsome face was unusually flushed,
and he stopped once or twice on nearing Adams, as if undecided what to
do. At last he seemed to make up his mind, walked straight up to the
seaman, and stood before him with folded arms.

"Hallo, Toc," said Adams, rousing himself; "you've caught me napping.
The truth is, I've bin inventin' a lot of awful whackers to spin a yarn
out o' for the child'n. This is Friday, you know, an' as they've bin
fastin', poor things, I want to give 'em what you may call mental food,
to keep their bread-baskets quiet, d'ye see? But you've got somethin'
to tell me, Toc; what is it?"

"Father," said Thursday,--and then followed a long pause, during which
the youth shifted from one leg to the other.

"Well, now, Toc," said Adams, eyeing the lad with a twinkling
expression, "d'ye know, I _have_ heard it said or writ somewhere, that
brevity is the soul of wit. If that sayin's true, an' I've no reason
for to suppose that it i