“What are you going to do?” demanded the Poet. “You can’t condemn and execute a member of the firm of Bos, Equus and Co. on one little bit of circumstantial evidence.”
“No, indeed not,” said Galatea.
“But I can give him the third degree, darn him, an’ make him confess,” declared Gabriel, who, as constable of the township, had taken pains to post himself on the latest police methods.
The suspected criminal, his accusers, and his two champions, proceeded to the hennery and to the nest of the incubating speckled hen, amid a chorus of cackling inquiries. Straight up to the ravished nest Napoleon was led. The speckled hen pecked him sharply on the nose. Napoleon yelped.
“There!” exclaimed Galatea. “It’s perfectly plain that the hen could defend herself against a small dog like Napoleon.”
“Lift her off the nest,” said Gabriel.
The speckled hen squawked, but Amanda was firm. Galatea lifted up the terrier and rubbed his nose in the nest.
“What did I tell ye?” said Gabriel in triumph. “D’ye see the guilty look in his face?”
“It isn’t guilt,” declared Galatea hotly; “it’s reproach—reproach for your unjust suspicions.”
“It’s righteous indignation,” said the Poet.