George had not been
below two minutes, when we heard a report from the cellar very like the
discharge of a pistol. It was loud enough to alarm the whole house. We were
frightened. We had reason to be. Who knows, thought we, but they have set a
spring-gun for us, and poor George is badly wounded? We waited in silence,
and with not a little anxiety, for our hero to come up.
He came at last, and a sorry looking fellow he was. He was covered from
head to foot with yeast! The cook had placed her bottle of emptyings,
tightly corked, in the village of cider bottles; and the truth flashed upon
us at once, that George had made a mistake, and captured the wrong bottle;
and the most of its contents, being a little angry at the time, were
discharged into his face. But this was not all. George thought he had
encountered a cider bottle, after all, for he could see nothing in the
cellar, and he had poured what little remained of his yeast into the
pitcher, and brought it up with him. When he made his appearance, there was
such a noisy trio of laughter as that old kitchen had seldom heard before.
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