"You scoundrels! you have whipped my own mother!"

"Captain," they calmly answered, "we opey orders."

"Fools!"--and Lysander ground his teeth,--"you should have known!"

"Captain," they replied, "if you not know, how should we know? We never
see dis woman pefore. We come. We find her taking prowisions from de
house. We say, 'She take dem to her husband in de mountains.' We say,
'You Mrs. Stackridge?' She say yes to everyting. We not know she lie. We
not know she steal. We not say, 'You somepody else.' We opey orders. We
take and we whip her. You come in and say, 'Whip more.' We whip more.
Now you say to us, 'Scoundrels!' You say, 'Fools!' We say, 'Captain, it
was your orders; we opey.'"

Having by a joint effort at sententious English pronounced this speech,
the brothers stood stolidly awaiting the result; while the captain,
still gnashing his teeth, bent over the prostrate form of his mother.

"Bring some water and throw on her! you idiots!" he yelled at them.
"Would you see her die?"

They looked at each other. "Water?" Yes, that was what was wanted. They
remembered their practice of the previous evening. One found a wooden
pail. The other emptied upon the floor the contents of the tin pail the
widow had "borrowed." They went to the well. They brought water. "To
throw on her?" Yes, that was what he said. And together they dashed a
sudden drenching flood over the poor woman, as if the swoon were another
fire to be extinguished.

These fellows obeyed orders literally--a merit which Lysander now failed
to appreciate. He swore at them terribly. But he did not countermand his
last order. Accordingly they proceeded stoically to bring more water.
Lysander had got his mothers head on his knee, and she had just opened
her eyes to look and her mouth to gasp, when there came another double
ice-cold wave, blinding, stifling, drowning her. Too much of water hadst
thou, poor lone widow!

Lysander let fall the maternal head, and bounded to his feet, roaring
with wrath. The brothers, imperturbable, with the empty pails at their
sides, stared at him with mute wonder.

"Captain, dat was your orders. You say, 'Pring vasser and trow on.' We
pring vasser and trow on. Dat is all."

"But I didn't tell you to fetch pailfuls!"

This sentence rushed out of Lysander's soul like a rocket, culminated in
a loud, explosive oath, and was followed by a shower of fiery curses
falling harmless on the heads of the unmoved Teutons.

They