“Oh-h!” murmured Kaviak with an accent of polite regret.  Then, with recovered cheerfulness, he pointed to the store corner:  “Maw!”

Potts laughed in his irritating way, and Mac’s face got red.  Things began to look black for Kaviak.

“Say, fellas, see here!” The Boy hammered the lid on the can with his fist, and then held it out.  “It was put away shut up, for I shut it, and even one of us can’t get that lid off without a knife or something to pry it.”

The company looked at the small hands doubtfully.  They were none too little for many a forbidden feat.  How had he got on the swing-shelf?  How—­

“Ye see, crayther, it must uv been yersilf, becuz there isn’t annybuddy else.”

“Look here,” said the Colonel, “we’ll forgive you this time if you’ll own up.  Just tell us—­”

“Kaviak!” Again that journey from the cricket to the judgment-seat.

“Show us”—­Mac had taken the shut tin, and now held it out—­“show us how you got the lid off.”

But Kaviak turned away.  Mac seized him by the shoulder and jerked him round.

Everyone felt it to be suspicious that Kaviak was unwilling even to try to open the all too attractive can.  Was he really cunning, and did he want not to give himself away?  Wasn’t he said to be much older than he looked? and didn’t he sometimes look a hundred, and wise for his years?

“See here:  I haven’t caught you in a lie yet, but if I do—­”

Kaviak stared, drew a long breath, and seemed to retire within himself.

“You’d better attend to me, for I mean business.”

Kaviak, recalled from internal communing, studied “Farva” a moment, and then retreated to the cricket, as to a haven now, hastily and with misgiving, tripping over his trailing coat.  Mac stood up.

“Wait, old man.”  The Colonel stooped his big body till he was on a level with the staring round eyes.  “Yo’ see, child, yo’ can’t have any dinnah till we find out who took the syrup.”

The little yellow face was very serious.  He turned and looked at the still smoking plenty-bowl.

“Are yoh hungry?”

He nodded, got up briskly, held up his train, and dragged his high stool to the table, scrambled up, and established himself.

“Look at that!” said the Colonel triumphantly.  “That youngster hasn’t just eaten a pint o’ syrup.”

Mac was coming slowly up behind Kaviak with a face that nobody liked looking at.

“Oh, let the brat alone, and let’s get to our grub!” said Potts, with an extreme nervous irritation.

Mac swept Kaviak off the stool.  “You come with me!”

Only one person spoke after that till the meal was nearly done.  That one had said, “Yes, Farva,” and followed Mac, dinnerless, out to the Little Cabin.

The Colonel set aside a plateful for each of the two absent ones, and cleared away the things.  Potts stirred the fire in a shower of sparks, picked up a book and flung it down, searched through the sewing-kit for something that wasn’t lost, and then went to the door to look at the weather—­so he said.  O’Flynn sat dozing by the fire.  He was in the way of the washing-up.