"Well! and so do you," declared the boy, warmly. "Only you've got some evidence, and we haven't."
"Humph!"
"You must know who would have a chance to get your letter paper and write such a letter as that?"
"Humph!" repeated the old man, reflectively.
"I don't know how that girl came to be out here. But you know you saw her—and like enough she spoke of the strawberry raid—and she went in to see Mrs. Buckham—and she saw the writing paper——"
All the time that Neale was drawling out these phrases he was watching the old farmer's grim face keenly for some flicker of emotion. But it was just as expressionless as a face of stone.
"It's fine weather, we're having, Neale," said Mr. Buckham, finally.
At that the boy lost his temper. "I tell you it's a mean shame!" he cried. "Poor Aggie can't act in that old play, and she wants to. And Trix Severn is spoiling the whole show, and she oughtn't to be allowed to. And if she was the cause of making all these other girls get punished, she ought to be shown up."
"Let's see that letter agin, son," said the old man, quietly. He peered at the handwriting intently for a minute. Then he said, with perfectly sober lips but a twinkle in his eye:
"Ye sure marm didn't write it?"