“I wish I was as big as you!” said Tom, indignantly.
“Well, what if you was?” demanded the old woman, pausing in her punishment, and glaring at Tom.
“I’d make your nose bleed,” said Tom, doubling up her fist.
“You would, would you?” said granny, fiercely. “Then it’s lucky you aint;” and she gave her another shake.
“Where are you going to take me?” asked Tom.
“Home. I’ll lock you up for a week, and give you nothin’ to eat but bread once a day.”
“All right!” said Tom. “If I’m locked up at home, I can’t bring you any money.”
This consideration had not at first suggested itself to the vindictive old woman. It would cut off all her revenue to punish Tom as she proposed; and this would be far from convenient. But anger was more powerful just then than policy; and she determined at all events to convey Tom home, and give her a flogging, before sending her out into the street to resume her labors.
She strode along, dragging Tom by the arm; and not another word was spoken till they reached the rear tenement house.
“What’s the matter with the child?” asked Mrs. Murphy, who had just come down into the court after one of her own children.
“She stole my money,” said granny; “and was eatin’ a mighty fine dinner out of it.”
“It was my money, Mrs. Murphy,” said Tom. “I gave granny twenty-two cents when I came home.”
“I hope you won’t go to hurt the child,” said kind-hearted Mrs. Murphy.
“I’ll be much obliged to you, Mrs. Murphy, if you’ll mind your own business,” said granny, loftily. “When I want your advice, mum, I’ll come and ask it; begging your pardon, mum.”
“She’s a tough craythur,” said Mrs. Murphy to herself. “She beats that poor child too bad entirely.”
Granny drew Tom into the room with no gentle hand.
“Now you’re goin’ to catch it,” said she, grimly.
Tom was of the same opinion, and meant to defend herself as well as she knew how. She had all her wits about her, and had already planned out her campaign.
On the chair was a stout stick which granny was accustomed to use on such occasions as the present. When wielded by a vigorous arm, it was capable of inflicting considerable pain, as Tom very well knew. That stick she determined to have.
Accordingly when granny temporarily released her hold of her, as she entered the room, Tom sprang for the chair, seized the stick, and sent it flying out of the window.
“What did you do that for?” said granny, fiercely.
“I don’t want to be licked,” said Tom, briefly.
“You’re going to be, then.”
“Not with the stick.”
“We’ll see.”
Granny poked her head out of the window, and saw Tim down in the court.
“Bring up that stick,” she said; “that’s a good boy.”
Tim picked up the stick, and was about to obey the old woman’s request, when he heard another voice—Tom’s—from the other window.
“Don’t you do it, Tim. Granny wants to lick me.”
That was enough. Tim didn’t like the old woman,—no one in the building did,—and he did like Tom, who, in spite of being a tough customer, was good-natured and obliging, unless her temper was aroused by the old woman’s oppression. So Tim dropped the stick.
“Bring it right up,” said granny, angrily.
“Are you goin’ to lick Tom?”
“None of your business! Bring it up, or I’ll lick you too.”
“No, you don’t!” answered Tim. “You must come for it yourself if you want it.”
Granny began to find that she must do her own errands. It was an undertaking to go down three flights of stairs to the court and return again, especially for one so indolent as herself; but there seemed to be no other way. She inwardly resolved to wreak additional vengeance upon Tom, and so get what satisfaction she could in this way. Muttering imprecations which I do not care to repeat, she started downstairs, determined to try the stick first upon Tim. But when she reached the court Tim had disappeared. He had divined her benevolent intentions, and thought it would be altogether wiser for him to be out of the way.
Granny picked up the stick, and, after a sharp glance around the court, commenced the ascent. She did not stop to rest, being spurred on by the anticipated pleasure of flogging Tom. So, in a briefer space of time than could have been expected, she once more arrived at her own door.
But Tom had not been idle.
No sooner was the door closed than Tom turned the key in the lock, making herself a voluntary prisoner, but having in the key the means of deliverance.
Granny tried the door, and, to her inexpressible wrath, discovered Tom’s new audacity.
“Open the door, you trollop!” she screamed.
“You’ll lick me,” said Tom.
“I’ll give you the wust lickin’ you ever had.”
“Then I shan’t let you in,” said Tom, defiantly.
CHAPTER IV
THE SIEGE
“Open the door,” screamed granny, beside herself with rage, “or I’ll kill you.”
“You can’t get at me,” said Tom, triumphantly.
The old woman grasped the knob of the door and shook it vigorously. But the lock resisted her efforts. Tom’s spirit was up, and she rather enjoyed it.
“Shake away, granny,” she called through the key-hole.
“If I could only get at you!” muttered granny.
“I won’t let you in till you promise not to touch me.”
“I’ll skin you alive.”
“Then you can’t come in.”
The old woman began alternately to pound and kick upon the door. Tom sat down coolly upon a chair, her dark eyes flashing exultingly. She knew her power, and meant to keep it. She had not reflected how it was to end. She supposed that in the end she would get a “lickin’,” as she had often done before. But in the mean while she would have the pleasure of defying and keeping the old woman at bay for an indefinite time. So she sat in placid enjoyment in her stronghold until she heard something that suggested a speedy raising of the siege.
“I’m goin’ for a hatchet,” said granny, through the key-hole.
“If you break the door, you’ll have to pay for it.”
“Never you mind!” said the old woman. “I know what I’m about.”
She heard the retreating steps of granny, and, knowing only too well her terrible temper, made up her mind that she was in earnest. If so, the door must soon succumb. A hatchet would soon accomplish what neither kicks nor pounding had been able to effect.
“What shall I do?” thought Tom.
She was afraid of something more than a lickin’ now. In her rage at having been so long baffled, the old woman might attack her with the hatchet. She knew very well that on previous occasions she had flung at her head anything she could lay hold of. Tom, brave and stout-hearted as she was, shrunk from this new danger, and set herself to devise a way of escape. She looked out of the window; but she was on the fourth floor, and it was a long distance to the court below. If it had been on the second floor she would have swung off.
There was another thing