But he had had other troubles to encounter. All at once, as he rode
through Boston streets, with his little charge behind him, after
leaving his friend's house, he felt a vicious little twitch at his
hair, which he wore in a queue tied with a black ribbon after the
fashion of the period. Twitch, twitch, twitch! The water came into
Samuel Wales' eyes, and the blood to his cheeks, while the passers-by
began to hoot and laugh. His horse became alarmed at the hubbub, and
started up. For a few minutes the poor man could do nothing to free
himself. It was wonderful what strength the little creature had; she
clinched her tiny fingers in the braid, and pulled, and pulled. Then,
all at once, her grasp slackened, and off flew her master's
steeple-crowned hat into the dust, and the neat black ribbon on the
end of the queue followed it. Samuel Wales reined up his horse with a
jerk then, and turned round, and administered a sounding box on each
of his apprentice's ears. Then he dismounted, amid shouts of laughter
from the spectators, and got a man to hold the horse while he went
back and picked up his hat and ribbon.
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