"Yes, mamma. It was Tom Thorne."
"Is Thomas Thorne here?" Mrs. Ellison asked in a loud voice.
There was a general turning of the heads of the children to the point where a boy, somewhat bigger than the rest, had been apparently studying his lessons with great diligence.
"Come here, Tom Thorne," Mrs. Ellison said.
The boy slouched up with a sullen face.
"You hear what my daughter says, Tom. What have you to say in reply?"
"I didn't throw the stone at the window," the boy replied. "I chucked it at a sparrow, and it weren't my fault if it missed him and broke the window."
"I should say it was your fault, Tom," Mrs. Ellison said sharply—"very much your fault, if you throw a great stone at a bird without taking care to see what it may hit. But that is nothing to your fault in letting another boy be punished for what you did. I shall report the matter to the squire, and he will speak to your father about it. You are a wicked, bad boy.
"Mr. White, I will speak to you outside."
Followed by her daughters, Mrs. Ellison went out; Kate giving a little nod, in reply to the grateful look that Reuben Whitney cast towards her, and his muttered: