"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