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.