“Mr. Thornycroft”—­Davy could not see his mother, but he could hear her voice tremble—­“he did not know whose dog it was!”

“He didn’t?  He didn’t?” yelled the old man.  “An’ him a boy that knows ever’ dog for ten miles around!  Right in front of my house, I tell you—­that’s where he picked him up—­that’s where he tolled him off!  Didn’t I tell you, woman, I seen him pass?  Didn’t I tell you I found he block down the road?  Didn’t know whose dog it was?  Ridiculous, ridiculous!  Call him, ask him, face him with it.  Likely he’ll lie—­but you’ll see his face.  Call him, that’s all I ask.  Call him!”

“Davy!” called Mrs. Allen.  “Davy!”

Just a moment the boy hesitated.  Then he went around the house.  The hound stuck very close to him, eyes full of terror, tail tucked as he looked at the old man.

“There he is—­with my dog!” cried the old man.  “You didn’t know whose dog it was, did you, son?  Eh?  You didn’t know, now, did you?”

“Yes!” cried the boy “I knowed!”

“Hear that, Mrs. Allen?  Did he know?  What do you say now?  He stole my dog, didn’t he?  That’s what he done, didn’t he?  Answer me, woman!  You come here!” he yelled, his face livid, and started, whip raised, toward boy and dog.

There were some smooth white stones the size of hen eggs arranged around a flower bed in the yard, and Davy stood near these stones—­and now, quick as a flash, he stooped down and picked one up.

“You stop!” he panted, his face very white.

His mother cried out and came running toward him, but Thornycroft had stopped.  No man in his right mind wants to advance on a country boy with a rock.  Goliath tried it once.

“All right!” screamed the old man.  “You steal first—­then you try to assault an old man!  I didn’t come here to raise no row.  I just came hear to warn you, Mrs. Allen.  I’ll have the law on that boy—­I’ll have the law on him before another sun sets!”

He turned and hurried toward the buggy.  Davy dropped the rock.  Mrs. Allen stood looking at the old miser, who was clambering into his buggy, with a sort of horror.  Then she ran toward the boy.

“Oh, Davy! run after him.  Take the dog to him.  He’s terrible, Davy, terrible!  Run after him—­anything—­anything!”

But the boy looked up at her with grim mouth and hard eyes.

“I ain’t a-goin’ to do it, Ma!” he said.

It was after supper that very night that the summons came.  Bob Kelley, rural policeman, brought it.

“Me an’ Squire Kirby went to town this mornin’,” he said, “to look up some things about court in the mornin.’  This evenin’ we run into Old Man Thornycroft on the street, lookin’ for us.  He was awful excited.  He had been to Mr. Kirby’s house, an’ found out Mr. Kirby was in town, an’ followed us.  He wanted a warrant swore out right there.  Mr. Kirby tried to argue with him, but it warn’t no use.  So at last Mr. Kirby turned to me.