"Leave go of him!" commanded Mrs. Canary, with spirit. Then her voice changed as she recognised the man before her. "Oh," she said, in a milder tone, "it's you, is it? Launkelot didn't go to hurt ye, I'm sure. Leave go the boy, an' let him tell about it."
The old man seemed not to hear her mollifying words.
"He hung on to my buggy," he said, in angry tones, "unt when I tell him to 'get off,' he answer me back. I lick him behind mit my whip, unt he shoot me in the headt mit his snap gun——"
"That wasn't the way it happened," said a clear voice above them.
The excited little group glanced up quickly. A young girl stood looking over the fence,—a girl in a white gown, with soft hair that shone like copper in the lamplight.
"Excuse me for interrupting," she said, "but I couldn't help hearing your conversation, and I want to tell you the whole story. I saw you drive past, and the robe was hanging out of your buggy. This little boy,—his name is Launcelot, isn't it?—ran out to put it in. You called to him not to hang on, and he answered that he was only putting in your robe for you. Without stopping to listen, you struck him with your whip. It was a mean and cruel thing to do. Then he did shoot at you with his catapult, but you can't blame him for that! I should have done it myself if you had struck me."
The old man stood gazing uneasily from one to the other during this recital. He loosened his grasp of the boy with a muttered growl.
"Why didn't you talk louder then?" he said to the astonished Launcelot.
An embarrassed silence fell upon the little group. The old man seemed dazed by the unexpected turn affairs had taken. He stared off into space, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other without finding further words. Then he cast a hurried glance at the girl standing above him, and shuffled off into the growing darkness.
Mrs. Canary caught the young sharpshooter to her breast.