Mary-'Gusta was growing accustomed to the life in the South Harniss
home. She found it a great improvement over that which she had known
on Phinney's Hill at Ostable. There was no Mrs. Hobbs to nag and find
fault, there were no lonely meals, no scoldings when stockings were
torn or face and hands soiled. And as a playground the beach was a
wonderland.
She and Jimmie Bacheldor picked up shells, built sand forts, skipped
flat stones along the surface of the water at high tide, and picked up
scallops and an occasional quahaug at low water. Jimmie was, generally
speaking, a satisfactory playmate, although he usually insisted upon
having his own way and, when they got into trouble because of this
insistence, did not permit adherence to the truth to obstruct the path
to a complete alibi. Mary-'Gusta, who had been taught by the beloved
Mrs. Bailey to consider lying a deadly sin, regarded her companion's
lapses with alarmed disapproval, but she was too loyal to contradict and
more than once endured reproof when the fault was not hers. She had had
few playmates in her short life and this one, though far from perfect,
was a joy.
They explored the house together and found in the big attic and the
stuffy, shut-up best parlor the most fascinating of treasure hordes. The
former, with its rows of old trunks and sea chests under the low eaves,
the queer garments and discarded hats hanging on the nails, the dusky
corners where the light from the little windows scarcely penetrated even
on a sunny May afternoon, was the girl's especial Paradise. Here she
came to play by herself on rainy days or when she did not care for
company. Her love of make-believe and romance had free scope here and
with no Jimmie to laugh and make fun of her imaginings she pretended to
her heart's content. Different parts of that garret gradually, in her
mind, came to have names of their own. In the bright spot, under the
north window, was Home, where she and the dolls and David--when the
cat could be coaxed from prowlings and mouse hunts to quiet and
slumber--lived and dined and entertained and were ill or well or happy
or frightened, according to the day's imaginative happenings. Sometimes
Home was a castle, sometimes a Swiss Family Robinson cave, sometimes
a store which transacted business after the fashion of Hamilton and
Company. And in other more or less fixed spots and corners were Europe,
to which the family voyaged occasionally; Niagara Falls--Mrs. Bailey's
honeymoon had been spent at the real Niagara; the King's palace; the den
of the wicked witch; Sherwood Forest; and Jordan, Marsh and Company's
store in Boston.
Jimmie Bacheldor liked the garret well enough, but imagination was not
his strongest quality and the best parlor had more charms for him.
In that parlor were the trophies of Captain Shadrach's seafaring
days--whales' teeth, polished and with pictures of ships upon them; the
model of a Chinese junk; a sea-turtle shell, flippers, head and all,
exactly like a real turtle except, as Mary-'Gusta said, 'it didn't have
any works'; a glass bottle with a model of the bark Treasure Seeker
inside; an Eskimo lance with a bone handle and an ivory point; a
cocoanut carved to look like the head and face of a funny old man; a
Cuban machete; and a set of ivory chessmen with Chinese knights and
kings and queens, all complete and set out under a glass cover.
The junk and the lance and the machete and the rest had a fascination
for Jimmie, as they would have had for most boys, but for him the
parlor's strongest temptation lay in the fact that the children were
forbidden to play there. Zoeth and the Captain, having been brought up
in New England families of the old-fashioned kind, revered their parlor
as a place too precious for use. They, themselves, entered it not
oftener than three times a year, and Isaiah went there only when he
felt inclined to dust, which was not often. Shadrach had exhibited its
treasures to the children one Sunday morning when Zoeth was at church,
but he cautioned them against going there by themselves. “You'd be
liable to break somethin',” he told them, “and some of them things in
there you couldn't buy with money. They've been brought from pretty much
everywheres in creation, those things have.”
But, in spite of the warning, or because of it, Jimmie was, as Isaiah
would have said, “possessed” to visit that parlor. He coaxed and teased
and dared Mary-'Gusta to take advantage of the steward's stepping out of
the house or being busy in the kitchen to open that parlor door and go
in with him and peep at and handle the treasures. Mary-'Gusta protested,
but young Bacheldor called her a coward and declared he wouldn't play
with cowards and 'fraid-cats, so rather than be one of those detestable
creatures she usually swallowed her scruples and followed the tempter.
It was a risk, of course, but a real adventure; and, like many
adventurers, the pair came to grief. They took David into the parlor and
the cat wriggled from its owner's arms, jumped upon the table, knocked
the case containing the chessmen to the floor, and not only broke the
glass but decapitated one of the white knights.
Even the mild Mr. Hamilton was incensed when Isaiah told the news
at supper time. And Captain Shad, who had bought those chessmen at
Singapore from the savings of a second mate's wages, lost patience
entirely.
“Didn't I tell you young-ones not to go into that parlor?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir,” admitted Mary-'Gusta, contritely.
“Yes, by fire, I did! And you went just the same.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you fetched that everlastin'--er--Goliath in there, too. Don't you
know you've been a bad girl?”
“Ye--yes, sir.”
Zoeth protested. “She ain't a bad girl, Shadrach,” he said. “You know
she ain't.”
“Well--er--maybe she ain't, generally speakin'. I cal'late 'twas that
Bacheldor brat that was responsible; but just the same I ain't goin'
to have it happen any more. Mary-'Gusta, if you and that
consarned--what's-his-name--Jimmie--go into that parlor again, unless
Isaiah or one of us are with you, I--I--by the jumpin' Judas, me and
Zoeth won't let you go to the Sunday school picnic. There! I mean that
and so does Zoeth. Shut up, Zoeth! You do mean it, too. You know mighty
well either your dad or mine would have skinned us alive if we'd done
such a thing when we was young-ones. And,” turning to the culprit, “if
you fetch that cat in there, I'll--I'll--I don't know what I'll do.”
The Sunday school picnic was to be held on the second Saturday in
June and Mary-'Gusta wished to attend it. She had never been to a real
picnic, though the other children in Ostable had described such outings
in glowing colors. Now, although she, a visitor, was not a regular
member of the South Harniss Methodist Sunday school, the superintendent
personally had invited her to go and Zoeth and the Captain had given
their consent. Not to go would be a heart-breaking calamity. She finally
resolved to be very, very good and obedient from that time on.
But good resolutions are broken occasionally, even by grown-ups, and in
childhood much can be forgotten in nine days. So, on the afternoon of
the tenth day, which was the day before the picnic, Mary-'Gusta walking
alone in the field which separated the Gould-Hamilton property from that
of Abner Bacheldor, Jimmie's father--Mary-'Gusta, walking in that field,
was depressed and melancholy. Her state of mind was indicated by the
fact that she had left all her dolls, even Rose and Rosette, at home.
She felt guilty and wicked and conscience-stricken. She had been a bad
girl; only one other knew how bad she had been and he, being guilty
likewise, would not betray her. But at home Isaiah Chase was, as he
said, “heatin' himself to a bile” baking apple turnovers for her to
take to the picnic. And Captain Shadrach had announced his intention
of bringing her, from the store, candy and bananas to go into the lunch
basket with the turnovers and sandwiches and cake. And the Captain had
that very day called her a good girl. If he only knew!
There had been a flurry of excitement in the kitchen just after dinner.
Mr. Bacheldor had appeared at the door with the request that he might
“borrer the loan of Cap'n Gould's shotgun.” The day before, at a quarter
after four--Mr. Bacheldor was certain as to the time because he had been
“layin' down two or three minutes on the sofy afore goin' out to look at
some wood there was to cut in the shed, and I'd just got up and looked
at the clock afore I looked out of the settin'-room winder”--looking out
of that window he had seen a cat running from his henyard with one of
his recently hatched Plymouth Rock chickens in its mouth.
“If I'd had a gun then,” declared Abner, “I could have blowed the
critter to thunder-and-gone. But I'll get him next time. Let me have the
gun, will you, Isaiah? I know Shad'll say it's all right when you tell
him.”
That shotgun was a precious arm. It had been given to the Captain years
before by the officers of a sinking schooner, whom Shadrach's boat's
crew, led by Shadrach himself, had rescued at a big risk off the Great
South School. It had the Captain's name, with an inscription and date,
on a silver plate fastened to the stock. Isaiah was not too willing to
lend it, but chicken stealing is a capital offense in South Harniss,
as it is in most rural communities, and the cat caught in the act is
summarily executed.
So Mr. Chase went to the Captain's room and returned with the gun.
“There you be, Ab,” he said. “Hope you get the critter.”
“Oh, I'll get him all right, don't you fret. Say, Isaiah--er--er--” Mr.
Bacheldor hesitated. “Say,” he went on, “you couldn't let me have two or
three cartridges, could you? I ain't got none in the house.”
Isaiah looked more doubtful than ever, but he brought the cartridges.
After making sure, by inquiry and inspection, that they were loaded, the
borrower started to go.
“Oh, I say, Ab,” Mr. Chase called after him; “know whose cat 'twas?”
Mr. Bacheldor did not appear to hear, so the question was repeated.
Abner answered without turning.
“I know,” he declared. “I know all right,” and hurried on. Isaiah looked
after him and sniffed disdainfully.
“Anybody on earth but that feller,” he said, “would have been ashamed
to beg cartridges after beggin' the gun, but not Ab Bacheldor, no sir!
Wonder he didn't want to borrer my Sunday hat to practice shootin' at.”
Mary-'Gusta considered shooting a cat the height of cruelty and
dreadfulness but she was aware of the universal condemnation of chicken
stealing and kept her thought to herself. Besides, she had her own
wickedness to consider.
She walked slowly on across the field, bound nowhere in particular,
thinking hard and feeling very wretched and miserable. The pleasure of
the next day, the day she had been anticipating, was spoiled already
for her. If she went to that picnic without making a full and free
confession she knew she would feel as mean and miserable as she was
feeling now. And if she did confess, why then--
Her meditations were interrupted in a startling manner. She was midway
of the field, upon the other side of which was a tumbledown stone wall,
and a cluster of wild cherry trees and bayberry bushes marking the
boundary of the Bacheldor land. From behind the wall and bushes sounded
the loud report of a gun; then the tramp of running feet and an excited
shouting:
“You missed him,” screamed a voice. “You never hit him at all. There he
goes! There he goes! Give him t'other barrel quick!”
Mary-'Gusta, who had been startled nearly out of her senses by the shot
and the shouting, stood perfectly still, too surprised and frightened
even to run. And then out of the bushes before her darted a scared
tortoise-shell cat, frantically rushing in her direction. The cat was
David.
“He's hidin' in them bushes,” shouted the voice again. “Stay where you
be, Pop. I'll scare him out and then you give it to him.”
Mary-'Gusta stood still no longer. The sight of her idolized pet running
for his life was enough to make her forget fright and everything else.
She too ran, but not toward home.
“David!” she screamed. “Oh, David! Come here! David!”
David may have recognized the voice, but if so the recognition made no
difference. The cat kept straight on. The girl ran across its path.
It dodged and darted into a beachplum thicket, a cul-de-sac of tangled
branches and thick grass. Before the animal could extricate itself
Mary-'Gusta had seized it in her arms. It struggled and fought for
freedom but the child held it tight.
“David!” she panted. “Oh, don't, David! Please be still! They shan't
hurt you; I won't let 'em. Please!”
Through the bushes above the wall appeared the freckled face of
Con--christened Cornelius--Bacheldor. Con was Jimmie's elder brother.
“He must have got through,” he shouted. “He--no, there he is. She's got
him, Pop. Make her put him down.”
Mr. Abner Bacheldor crashed through to his son's side. He was carrying a
gun.
“You put that cat down,” screamed Con, threateningly.
Mary-'Gusta said nothing. Her heart was beating wildly but she held the
struggling David fast.
“It's that kid over to Shad Gould's,” declared Con. “Make her give you a
shot, Pop.”
Mr. Abner Bacheldor took command of the situation.
“Here, you!” he ordered. “Fetch that critter here. I want him.”
Still Mary-'Gusta did not answer. She was pale and her small knees
shook, but she neither spoke nor moved from where she stood. And her
grip upon the cat tightened.
“Fetch that cat here,” repeated Abner. “We're goin' to shoot him; he's
been stealin' our chickens.”
At this accusation and the awful threat accompanying it, Mary-'Gusta
forgot her terror of the Bacheldors, of the gun, forgot everything
except her pet and its danger.
“I shan't!” she cried frantically. “I shan't! He ain't! He's my cat and
he don't steal chickens.”
“Yes, he does, too,” roared Con. “Pop and I see him doin' it.”
“You didn't! I don't believe it! When did you see him?”
“Yesterday afternoon. We see him, didn't we, Pop?”
“You bet your life we did,” growled Abner. “And he was on my land again
just now; comin' to steal more, I cal'late. Fetch him here.”
“I--I shan't! He shan't be shot, even if he did steal 'em. And I know
he didn't. If you shoot him I'll--I'll tell Uncle Zoeth and--and Cap'n
Gould. And I won't let you have him anyhow. I won't,” with savage
defiance. “If you shoot him you'll have to shoot me, too.”
Con climbed over the wall. “You just wait, Pop,” he said. “I'll take him
away from her.”
But his father hesitated. There were certain reasons why he thought it
best not to be too arbitrary.
“Hold on, Con,” he said. “Look here, sis, I'm sorry to have to kill your
cat, but I've got to. He steals chickens and them kind of cats has to be
shot. I see him myself yesterday afternoon. I told Isaiah Chase myself
that . . . why, you was there and heard me! You heard me tell how I was
lookin' out of the winder at quartet past four and see that cat--”
Mary-'Gusta interrupted. Her expression changed. She was still
dreadfully frightened but in her tone was a note of relief, of confident
triumph.
“You didn't see him,” she cried. “It wasn't David; it wasn't this cat
you saw. I KNOW it wasn't.”
“Well, I know it was. Now don't argue no more. You fetch that cat here
or I'll have Con take him away from you. Hurry up!”
“I know it wasn't David,” began Mary-'Gusta. Then, as Con started in her
direction, she turned and ran, ran as hard as she could, bearing David
in her arms. Con ran after her.
It was the cat that saved the situation and its life at the same time.
Mary-'Gusta was near the edge of the pine grove and Con was close at her
heels. David gave one more convulsive, desperate wriggle, slid from the
girl's arms and disappeared through the pines like a gray projectile.
Mary-'Gusta collapsed on the grass and burst into frightened, hysterical
sobs. Con took one or two steps after the flying cat and gave up the
chase. Mr. Bacheldor, from behind the wall, swore emphatically and at
length.
“Come here, Con, you fool,” he yelled, when the expression of his true
feelings had reached a temporary end. “Come here! let the kid alone.
We'll get into trouble if we don't. As for that dummed cat, we'll get
him next time. He'll see his finish. Come on, I tell you.”
Con reluctantly rejoined his parent and the pair departed, muttering
threats. Mary-'Gusta, the tears running down her cheeks, ran home to
find David and plead with Mr. Chase for her pet's safety and protection
from its persecutors. But Isaiah had gone up to the store on an errand.
David, however, was crouching, a trembling heap, under the kitchen
stove. The girl pulled him out, fled with him to the garret, and there,
with the door locked, sat shivering and sobbing until Captain Shad came
home for supper that night.
The Captain's first question when he arrived was concerning
Mary-'Gusta's whereabouts. Isaiah said he had not seen her for two hours
or more. And just then the child herself appeared, entering the kitchen
from the door leading to the back stairs.
“Hello, Mary-'Gusta!” hailed Shadrach. “Thought you was lost. Supper's
about ready to put on the table. Why, what's the matter? Been cryin',
ain't you?”
Mary-'Gusta went straight to him and clutched his hand. “Please, Cap'n
Gould,” she begged, “will you come into the sittin'-room a minute? I--I
want to ask you somethin'. I want you to do somethin' for me, will you?”
“Sartin sure I will. What is it?”
Mary-'Gusta glanced at Isaiah's face. “I'd--I'd rather tell you, just
you alone,” she said. “Please come into the sittin'-room.”
She tugged at his hand. Much puzzled, he followed her through the
dining-room and into the sitting-room.
“Well, Mary-'Gusta,” he said, kindly, “now what is it? What's the big
secret?”
Mary-'Gusta closed the door. She was very solemn and her lip quivered
but she did not hesitate.
“It's about David,” she said. “Somethin's happened to David. I--I'm
goin' to tell you about it, Cap'n Gould.”
She told of her adventure and of David's peril. Shadrach listened. When
he heard of the accusation which was the cause of the affair he shook
his head.
“My, my!” he exclaimed. “That's pretty bad, that is. I'd hate to have
your cat killed, Mary-'Gusta, land knows I would. But if the critter's a
chicken thief--”
“But he ain't! I KNOW he ain't!”
“Humph! You can't always tell, you know cats are cats and--”
“But I know David wasn't the cat that did it. I KNOW he wasn't”
“Oh, you know, do you. Hm! you do seem pretty sartin, that's a fact. How
do you know?”
The girl looked at him. “Please, Cap'n Gould,” she said, “I--I'd rather
tell you over to Mr. Bacheldor's. That's what I wanted to ask you; won't
you please go right over to Mr. Bacheldor's with me? I--I'll tell you
how I know when we're there.”
Captain Shadrach was more puzzled than ever. “You want me to go to Ab
Bacheldor's with you?” he repeated. “You want to tell me somethin' over
there? Why not tell me here?”
“'Cause--'cause Mr. Bacheldor thinks David did it and he'll kill him.
He said he would. I want HIM to know David wasn't the one. And if, if
you're there when he knows, he'll know YOU know he knows and he won't
dast shoot at David any more. Please come, Cap'n Gould. Please, right
away.”
Shadrach tugged at his beard. “Humph!” he muttered. “There's more
'knows' in that than there is knots in a snarled fish line. You want me
as a witness, nigh's I can make out. Is that it?”
“Yes, sir. Will you go with me right off?”
“Right off, eh? Can't it wait till after supper?”
“I--I don't want any supper. PLEASE!”
So supper was postponed, in spite of Isaiah's grumblings, and the
Captain and Mary-'Gusta started forthwith for the home of their nearest
neighbor. Mr. Chase, his curiosity aroused, would have asked a dozen
questions, but Mary-'Gusta would neither answer nor permit Shadrach to
do so.
The Bacheldor family were at supper when the callers arrived. Abner
himself opened the door and he looked rather embarrassed when he saw the
pair on the steps. Captain Shad did not wait for an invitation to enter;
he walked in and Mary-'Gusta followed him.
“Now then, Ab,” said the Captain, briskly, “what's this about our cat
stealin' your chickens?”
Mr. Bacheldor and Con, separately and together, burst into a tirade of
invective against the offending David.
“That's all right, that's all right,” broke in the Captain, crisply. “If
that cat stole your chicken it ought to be shot. But are you sure of the
cat? Do you know ours did it? This girl here says 'twasn't ours at all.”
“I know a dum sight better,” began Abner, savagely. But this time it was
Mary-'Gusta who interrupted.
“Cap'n Gould,” she said, “please ask him what time it was yesterday
afternoon when he saw the cat run off with the chicken.”
Bacheldor did not wait to be asked.
“'Twas quarter-past four yesterday afternoon,” he declared. “I know the
time.”
“I don't see what the time's got to do with it,” put in Shadrach.
“But it's got everything to do with it,” urged Mary-'Gusta. “Honest
truly it has.”
“Oh, it has, eh? Why?”
“'Cause--'cause--Ask him if he's sure?”
Again Abner did not wait. “Course I'm sure,” he replied. “I told Isaiah
Chase--yes, and I told that young-one, too--that I looked at the clock
just afore I looked out of the window and see the critter in the very
act. Yes, and Con see him too.”
Mary-'Gusta stamped her foot in triumph. “Then it wasn't David,”
she said. “It wasn't David at all. 'Twas somebody else's cat, Mr.
Bacheldor.”
“Somebody else's nothin'! Don't you suppose I know--”
“Hold on! Heave to, Ab. Mary-'Gusta, how do you know 'twasn't our cat?”
“'Cause--'cause David was with me from four o'clock till most five;
that's how. He was in the--in our house with me. So,” triumphantly, “he
couldn't have been anywhere else, could he?”
Con and his father both began a protest, but Shadrach cut it short.
“Keep still, for mercy sakes,” he ordered. “This ain't Shoutin'
Methodist camp meetin'. Let's get soundin's here. Now, Mary-'Gusta, you
say the cat was with you from four till five; you're sure of that?”
“Yes, sir. I know because Mr. Chase had gone out and we knew he wouldn't
be back until five 'cause he said he wouldn't. So we looked at the clock
before we went in.”
“Went in? Went in where?”
The girl hung her head. It was evident that the answer to this question
was one she dreaded to make. But she made it, nevertheless.
“Before we went into--into the parlor,” she said, faintly.
Captain Shad was the only one of her hearers who grasped the full
significance of this confession. No, there was one other, and he turned
red and then white.
“The parlor?” repeated the Captain, slowly. “The best parlor?”
“Ye-yes, sir.”
“Do you mean you went into the best parlor over to our house and--AND
TOOK THAT CAT IN WITH YOU?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I swan to man! Did you forget what I told you would happen if you
went into that parlor again? And especially if you lugged that cat in?
Did you forget that?”
“N-no, sir. I didn't forget it. You--you said I couldn't go to the
picnic.”
Shadrach shook his head. “Well,” he groaned, “if this don't beat the
nation! What under the sun did you do it for?”
“'Cause--'cause we wanted to play pirates with--with the swords and
things,” faltered Mary-'Gusta. “And we took David 'cause he was goin' to
be one of the passengers on the ship we took. But,” with a sudden return
to the main point at issue, “that proves David wasn't the cat he saw,
the one that stole his chicken.”
The Captain looked at her. “By fire, it does, that's right,” he
muttered. Abner Bacheldor roared in indignation.
“It don't prove nothin',” he cried. “All it proves is that the kid's a
liar. She's lyin' so's to save that dummed thief of a cat. All kids'll
lie when they think they can make somethin' out of it.”
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.
“Why the son of a swab!” he cried, excitedly. “Of all the cheek I ever
heard of in my life that Abner Bacheldor's got the heft! To borrer a
man's own gun--yes, and cartridges, too--to kill that man's own cat
with! Of all the solid brass! He never told me 'twas our cat. All he
wanted to know was could he borrer your gun and somethin' to load it
with. If I'd known--”
His employer interrupted him. “WHAT?” he roared. “Do you mean to say
that Ab Bacheldor came here and borrowed MY gun to--to do what he done
with?”
“Sartin sure he did. And only this very afternoon, too.”
“And did he know whose cat 'twas?”
“He said he did. Mary-'Gusta was here 'long with me when he come. I
says: 'Know whose cat 'tis?' and says he, 'I know all right!' I thought
he acted kind of sheepish and funny. I--Here! where you goin'?”
The Captain was on his feet and his cap was in his hand.
“Goin'!” he snarled. “I'm going to make another call on Abner. And,”
with his hand on the latch, “if you hear somebody bein' murdered over in
that direction you needn't call the constable, neither.”
“But--but, hold on, Cap'n Shad! You ain't finished your own supper yet
and Zoeth's waiting up to the store for you to come back so's he can
come down and get his.”
The reply was emphatic and, in its way, conclusive.
“To the blue brimstone with the supper!” roared Shadrach. “It can wait
and so can Zoeth. If he can't he can do the next best.”
He was absent for half an hour. When he returned Mr. Hamilton was in the
dining-room. Shadrach entered, bearing the precious shotgun. He stood it
carefully in the corner. There was a satisfied look in his eye.
“For goodness' sake, Shadrach!” exclaimed Zoeth, “what have you been
thinkin' of? There I was waitin' and waitin' and hankerin' and hankerin'
and no you nor no supper. I had to lock up the store finally. 'Twas
either that or starve. I ain't a fault-finder, generally speakin', but I
have to eat, same as other folks.”
His partner paid not the least attention. His first remark was in the
form of a question addressed to Mr. Chase.
“Look here, Isaiah,” he demanded, “did I understand you to say that
Mary-'Gusta was with you when that sculpin come to borrow my gun?”
“Yup. She was here.”
“And she knew that he was goin' to shoot a cat with it?”
“Sartin, she heard him say so.”
Shadrach strode to the mantel, took from it a hand-lamp, lighted the
lamp and with it in his hand walked from the room and ascended the
stairs. Zoeth called after him, but he did not answer.
He entered Mary-'Gusta's room. The child was in bed, the dolls beside
her. She was not asleep, however. The tear stains on her cheeks and the
dampness of the pillow showed how she had spent the time since leaving
the dining-room.
Shadrach put the lamp upon the washstand, pulled a chair beside the bed
and sat down. He took her hand in his.
“Mary-'Gusta,” he said, gently, “you knew 'twas my gun that Ab Bacheldor
was tryin' to shoot David with?”
Mary-'Gusta moved her head up and down on the pillow.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“You was here when he borrowed it?”
“Yes, sir. And then I knew it was yours when he had it there in the
field. I saw the silver name thing on the handle. It kind of shined in
the sun.”
“Um-hm. Yes, yes. I see. You knew it, of course. But you didn't tell me.
Why on earth didn't you? Didn't you know that if I'd realized that swab
had borrered my gun to kill my cat that would have been enough? If the
critter had stole a million chickens 'twouldn't have made any difference
if I'd known THAT. The cheeky lubber! Well, he won't shoot at anything
of ours for one spell, I'll bet. But why didn't you tell me?”
Mary-'Gusta's answer was promptly given.
“Why, 'cause,” she said, “that was just it. I knew if you knew that you
wouldn't care whether David stole the chicken or not. And I wanted you
to know he didn't.”
“Um, I see. But if you had told me you wouldn't have had to tell about
the parlor. I'D never asked a single question.”
“Ye-yes, sir; but I wanted you to know David doesn't steal chickens.”
Shadrach swallowed hard. “I see,” he said. “Yes, yes, I see. So just to
clear that cat you was willin' to give up the picnic and everything.”
Mary-'Gusta sobbed: “I--I did want to go so,” she moaned.
The Captain lifted her from the pillow and put his arm about her.
“You ARE goin',” he declared, emphatically, “you just bet you're goin'.”
“Oh! Oh, am I? Am I really? I--I know I hadn't ought to. I was a bad
girl.”
“You! You're a dummed good girl! The best and squarest--yes, and the
spunkiest little girl I ever saw. You're a brick.”
“I'm awful sorry I went into the parlor, Cap'n Gould.”
“Blast the parlor! I don't care if you stay in there a week and smash
everything in it. And--and, see here, Mary-'Gusta, don't you call me
'Cap'n Gould' any more. Call me 'Uncle Shad,' will you?”
Just before bedtime that night Mr. Hamilton broached a subject which had
troubled him all day.
“Shadrach,” he said, timidly. “I--I guess I ought to tell you somethin'.
I know you won't want to talk about it, but seems 's if I must tell you.
I had a letter this morning from Judge Baxter. He says he can't wait
much longer for an answer from us about Marcellus's girl. He's got to
know what we've decided to do with her.”
Shadrach, who was smoking, took his pipe from his mouth.
“Well, give him the answer then,” he said, shortly. “You know what 'tis,
well as I do.”
Zoeth looked troubled.
“I know you don't want to keep her,” he said, “but--”
“Who said I didn't?”
“Who? Why, Shadrach Gould! You said--”
“I said a good many things maybe; but that's nothin'. You knew what I
meant as well as I did.”
“Why, Shadrach! You--you don't mean you ARE willin' to keep her--here,
with us, for good? You don't mean THAT?”
The Captain snorted impatiently. “Don't be so foolish, Zoeth,” he
protested. “You knew plaguey well I never meant anything else.”