“Those that Neale O’Neil lives with at Milton.”
“He doesn’t live with us. He lives next door to us—with Mr. Con Murphy.”
“Bill Sorber said he lived with some Corner House girls. That’s what he called you,” said Barnabetta.
“Just the same,” said Agnes, boldly; “I wish he were here. He’d know what to do—how to help you.”
But Barnabetta was despondent. “Nobody can’t help us,” she said. “We’re in bad.”
“Oh! I will find some way of helping,” declared Agnes, trying to speak comfortingly.
“Huh! lots of good you can do now,” grumbled the other. “You and that nasty dog has just fixed Pop.”
“It wasn’t Tom Jonah’s fault. And I’m sure it wasn’t my fault. He was only defending me. You and your father shouldn’t have tried to stop me.”
“You hid the dog in the bushes a-purpose,” cried Barnabetta, angrily. “You know you did.”
“No, I didn’t. And he scared me enough, too. I thought he was a wolf,” said Agnes, anxious to explain though why she should be put on the defensive, it would be difficult to tell.