Shadrach grunted. "Maybe so," he said, "but I ain't caught this one in a lie so far. And I doubt if she's lyin' now. Now, Mary-'Gusta, is there any way you can prove you was in that parlor, and--what's his name--David was there at the time you say? Is there?"
Again Mary-'Gusta hesitated. Her eyes wandered about the faces in the room, until their gaze rested upon the face of Jimmie Bacheldor.
And Jimmie looked white and scared.
"N-no, sir, I--I guess not," she faltered.
"I guess not, too," declared Con, with a sarcastic laugh.
But the Captain was suspicious. He had seen the child's look.
"Hold on," he commanded. "There's more to this than a blind man could see through a board fence. Mary-'Gusta, was there anybody else except David in that parlor along with you? Was there?"
Mary-'Gusta looked at the floor.
"Yes, sir," she faltered.
"So? I kind of had an idea there might be. Who was it?"
Again the look and then: "I--I ain't goin' to tell."
Con laughed once more. "You bet she ain't," he exclaimed. "She can't. The whole yarn's a lie. Don't pay no attention to it, Pop."
Shadrach turned sharply in his direction. "I'M payin' attention to it," he snapped, "and that's enough. So you ain't goin' to tell, Mary-'Gusta, eh? Remember now, if you do tell it'll prove your story's true and David'll come out on top. Think it over."
Evidently Mary-'Gusta was thinking it over. Her eyes filled with tears, but she shook her head.
The Captain looked down at her. "Keepin' mum, eh?" he said. "Well, that's all right. I cal'late we're pretty good guessers, some of us, anyway. Jim," with a sudden look straight at the youngest member of his neighbor's family, who was fidgeting with his spoon and acting remarkably nervous, "what have you got to say? Have a good time in that parlor playin' pirates, did you?"
Jimmie gasped. The suddenness of the attack knocked his defenses flat. He gurgled, stammered, and then broke into a wail of distress.
"I--I didn't mean to," he sobbed, wildly. "'Twas her. She said do it; I never. I--I--"
"Why, Jimmie Bacheldor!" exclaimed Mary-'Gusta, shocked into protest by her fellow culprit's distortion of the truth. "How can you say so! What a story! You know--"
"I guess he knows," broke in Shadrach. "And I cal'late I know, too.
Now then, Jim, what time was it when you looked at the clock? Shut up, Abner, let the boy answer. Tell us, Jim; nobody'll hurt you."
"It--it was four o'clock," hollered Jimmie, in agony. "I--I never done it a purpose. I won't do so no more."
"No, I don't cal'late you will. Cal'late you won't have a chance.
Well, Ab, I guess we've proved our client's case. Next time you go out cat shootin' you better be sure you're gunnin' for the right one. Come on, Mary-'Gusta."
Con Bacheldor sprang to his feet.
"Pop," he shouted, "be you goin' to let 'em go this way? And that cat stealin' our chickens right along. Ain't you goin' to tell 'em you'll kill the critter next time he comes on our land?"
Abner was silent. He seemed oddly anxious to see the last of his visitors. It was the Captain who spoke.
"No, Con," he said, crisply, "he ain't goin' to tell me that. And you listen while I tell YOU somethin'. If that cat of ours gets hurt or don't show up some time I'll know who's responsible. And then--well, then maybe I'LL go gunnin'. Good night, all hands."
All the way back across the fields and through the grove the Captain was silent. Mary-'Gusta clinging to his hand was silent too, dreading what she knew was sure to follow. When they entered the kitchen Shadrach turned to her:
"Well, Mary-'Gusta," he said, "I'm glad your cat's turned out to be no chicken thief, but--but that don't alter what you did, does it?"
"No, sir," stammered the girl.
"No, I'm afraid it don't. I told you what would happen if you went into that parlor, and you went just the same. I cal'late you know what to expect, don't you?"
"Ye-yes, sir," in a low tone. "You mean I can't go to the Sunday school picnic."
Shadrach cleared his throat. He was not enjoying this episode, as a matter of fact his unhappiness was almost as keen as the child's.
But as a boy he had been reared in the old-fashioned way, and he felt that he had a duty to perform.
"I'm afraid that's what I mean," he said, gravely. "Now set down and have your supper."
Mary-'Gusta tried hard to be brave, but the disappointment was too great. The tears streamed down her cheeks and she ran from the room. Shadrach strode after her.
"Here!" he called. "Mary-'Gusta, where are you goin'? Come back and have your supper."
But Mary-'Gusta did not come back. She was already on the stairs.
"I--I don't want any supper," she sobbed. "Please, oh, PLEASE don't make me eat it."
The Captain hesitated, turned back, and jerked his own chair to the table.
"Well," he demanded brusquely, "the supper's here and somebody's got to eat it, I cal'late. Fetch it on, Isaiah! What are you starin' at me like that for, you dumbhead?"
Isaiah brought in the supper. Then he demanded to know what the fuss was all about. Shadrach told him. Isaiah's chief interest seemed to center on the attempted shooting.
