"It's Fayetty's."
"Your superior cellar digger? Whew!"
He had now become quite as serious as she desired. "Cleena, this is a bad business. This coat was on the back of the man who horsewhipped Mr. Wingate."
"I thought it; but, mind you, me lad, he's not for punishin'."
"Hold on, he certainly is. Don't you know that I—I, a Kaye, am under suspicion of this dastardly thing? Of course you do. Well, then, I'm going to step out from under the suspicion with neatness and despatch. How long have you been hiding this, Cleena?"
"The poor chap's been here ever since. Only once a day he slips out, but he's back by night. Oh, he's safe enough the now."
"Glad of it. Like to have him handy; and as soon as you've finished what you have to say, I'll walk into the village and inform the sheriff, or somebody who should know."
"You'll do naught like it."
"Why, Cleena, woman, have you lost your good sense?"
"Have I saved it, no? Hear me. I know 'twas me poor little Gineral Bonyparty 't did the deed. I knew, soon as I heard the tale o' the coat. You're no so stupid yerself. You recognized it immediate. It was a part o' his uniform he wore a-paradin'. His notion 'twould save the collar clean o' the jacket I fixed him. He's never no care in all his hard life till he met up with me. The poor little gossoon!"