"An' I ain' go' to han' over my britches fer NO cat!" "Listen here, Herman," Penrod began pleadingly.

"You can watch us every minute through the crack in the stable door, can't you?
We ain't goin' to HURT 'em any, are we?
You can see everything we do, can't you?
Look at here, Herman: you know that little saw you said you wished it was yours, in the carpenter shop?
Well, honest, if you'll just let us take your trousers till we get this poor ole cat out the cistern, I'll give you that little saw." Herman was shaken; he yearned for the little saw.
"You gimme her to keep ?" he asked cautiously.

"You gimme her befo' I han' over my britches ?" "You'll see!" Penrod ran into the stable, came back with the little saw, and placed it in Herman's hand.

Herman could resist no longer, and two minutes later he stood in the necessary negligee within the shelter of the stable door, and watched, through the crack, the lowering of the surrendered garment into the cistern.

His gaze was anxious, and surely nothing could have been more natural, since the removal had exposed Herman's brown legs, and, although the weather was far from inclement, November is never quite the month for people to be out of doors entirely without leg-covering.