“Then, as we came nearer to Shady Nook, we smelled smoke and found out it was Flicks’. The inn was burned down by then—it was all wood, you know—but there was plenty of fire smoldering around. So we got some buckets at our own houses and began carrying water from the river. We must have worked a couple of hours.... Till you came along.... That’s all.”
“You’re going to tell this story to Mr. Flick?”
“It’s not a story!” cried the boy indignantly. “It’s the truth!”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,” Mary Louise hastened to assure him. “I believe you, Freckles. But I do wish you had someone to swear to the truth of it—for the people who may not believe you. Some witness, I mean. Did the Ditmars see you boys in the woods?”
“No. When we heard their voices—and I told you she was good and mad—we beat it around another path. Women murder their husbands sometimes, you know!” he added solemnly.
“I don’t believe Mrs. Ditmar would commit murder,” replied his sister. “We met her yesterday morning, and she seemed awfully nice.”
Freckles stood up.
“Guess I better be on my way. Old man Flick’s got an awful temper.”
“Well, be sure to keep yours,” Mary Louise warned him as he walked down the steps.
She turned to Jane. “What do you think about it?” she asked.