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“Now, Philly,” said Uncle Henry, one morning after breakfast, “we’ll fix these–

“‘ Got any ole boots?‘

“We’ll give the rascals a caution, they won’t neglect soon, I’ll warrant them. Bring me the hammer and nails; that’s a man; now get uncle the high chair; so, that’s it; now I’ll fix this shelf up over the top of the door, on a pivot–bore this hole through here–put the string through that way, here, umph; oh, now we’ll have a trap for the scoundrels. I’ll learn them how to come pulling people’s bells, clean out by the very roots, making us drop all, to come wait on them, rot them–

“‘ Got any ole boots?‘

“I’ll give you old boots, by the lord Harry; I’ll give you a dose of something you won’t forget, to your dying day.”

And thus jabbering, fixing and pushing about the revolving shelf, over his hall door, Mr. Mansfield worked away at his trap. Like that of most dwellings in Boston, Uncle Henry’s front door was sunk some six or eight feet into the face of the house, reached by a flight of six granite steps–side and top lights to the door, in the ordinary way, with brass plate and bell pull. It was in a neighborhood not plebeian enough to induce butcher boys to enter the hall, with the pork and potatoes, nor admit of the servant girl heaving “slops” out of the front windows; yet not sufficiently parvenu to impress pedlers and

” Got any ole boots? “

with aristocratic or “respectable” awe, ere venturing to mount the steps, pull the bell, and mention tin pots, scrap iron, rags and old leather. Mr. Mansfield was inclined to chuckle in his sleeves at the ruse he would be enabled to give his tormentors through the agency of his revolving battery–charged with ground charcoal and brick dust, to be worked by himself or Philly, by means of a string on the inside. Philly was duly initiated into the modus operandi; when–

” Got any ole boots? “

made his appearance, amid his pyramid of leather, or a pedler’s wagon was seen in the neighborhood, Philly was to be on the qui vive, inform Uncle Henry, and if they mounted the steps, he would give them a shower bath upon a new and astonishing principle.

It was perfect “nuts” for Master Phil; he was tickled at the idea, and readily agreed to Uncle Henry’s propositions. Not long after arranging the “infernal machine,” Uncle Henry’s attention was called to another part of the house; a dire calamity had befallen the Canary bird; a strange cat had pounced upon the cage–the door flew open, and puss nabbed the little warbler. Philly, on the look out, in front, discovers two old boot men approaching the neighborhood; desirous of showing his own skill, he did not call Uncle Henry, but posted himself behind the door–string in hand, awaiting the cue. Feet approach–quickly the feet mount the steps.

” Ding al ling, ding de ding, ding, ding, ding! “

” Sh-i-i-s-swashe! ” and down comes the avalanche of coal dust and refined brick, the bulk of a peck, fair measurement!

Uncle Henry reached the door just in time to see the penny postman covered from head to foot with the obnoxious composition! Philly took occasion to make a sudden exit, the postman swore–swore like a trooper, but Uncle Henry managed to pack the whole transaction upon the “devilish boy”–brushed the postman’s clothes, and after some effort, so mollified him as to induce the sufferer to depart in peace. Uncle Henry tried to be very severe on Philly, but it was very evident to that hopeful that the old gentleman was more tickled than serious. Philly cleared the steps, and the old gentleman re-arranged the trap, admonishing Philly not to dare to meddle with it again, but call him when–

” Got any ole boots? ” made their appearance.

All was quiet up to noon next day; Uncle Henry had business down town, and left the house at 9 A. M. Philly was at school, but got home before Uncle Henry, and seeing the pedler wagon near the door–slipped in, and learning that the old gentleman was out, he gladly took charge of the battery again. Now, just as the pedler mounted the steps of the next door, Mr. Mansfield sees him, and hurries up his own steps, to be on the watch for the pedler. Philly had been peeking out the corner of the side curtain, and seeing the pedler coming, as he thought, right up the steps–nabbed the string, and as Uncle Henry caught the knob of the door–down came thundering the brick dust and charcoal both, in the most elegant profusion.

Phil was tricked. Uncle Henry’s vociferations were equal to that of a drunken beggar–the trap was removed, Uncle Henry got disgusted with city life, and left–for rural retirement, without as much as giving one single rebuke to–

” Got any ole boots to-day? “