It ran through
the cracks and there was a shower below, where father and mother were
sitting. I was in a quandary. I knew I was doomed unless I could use some
stratagem to clear myself from the scrape in which I was so nicely
caught. When lo! the first thing I heard from below was father,
apparently very angry, shouting, "William! what in the world are you
doing with the metheglin barrel?" Then came my stratagem. I began to
retch and make a noise as if vomiting, and hallooed to him that I was
sick. Of course, I wanted to make him believe that it was the contents of
my stomach that was falling at his feet in place of the metheglin. He
said he knew better, it was too sudden an attack, and too much of a
shower of the metheglin falling at their feet. I found that I could not
make this ruse work. He started for me, his head appeared above the top
of the ladder, he had a candle and a gad in his hand. I had been glad to
see him often, before, and was afterward, but this time I saw nothing in
him to admire. I found I had entirely failed. I told him that I would not
do that again. "Oh honestly!" if he would only let me off, I would never
do that again.
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