The question took Mr. Sam aback. "You deserve a whipping if ever a girl did," he answered, after a second or two. "First, it seems, you almost succeed in killing your cousin, and then you tell a falsehood about it."
"I have told you the truth. I put the powder there. As for meaning to kill him, that's nonsense, and he knows it. I didn't even mean to hurt him, though he deserves it."
"Deserves it!" echoed Mr. Sam.
"Yes, for robbing Clem."
"Sam—Sam!" Mrs. Purchase thrust herself between them. "What's the matter? Don't go for to hurt the child!"
"What—what does she mean, then?" He had stretched out a hand to grip Myra by the shoulder, but fell back with a yellow face.
"Tom Trevarthen told me." Myra pointed from father to son. "He says you're no better than a pair of robbers."
"Myra," said her aunt quietly, "go to your room at once. On your own confession you have done wickedly, and must be punished."
"Very well, Aunt Hannah."
"I must attend to Calvin first; but I will come to you by and by. Until then you are not to leave your room. Do you understand?"