“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.