“You said I would be justified in taking the money wherever I could lay hands on it!” cried Jack, now fully roused to speak in his own behalf.
“Boy! Jack!” replied the deacon, regarding him with a look of mingled amazement, grief, and stern reprobation. “Take care what you say! Don’t make the matter worse by lying about it.”
“You said so—to—to Mrs. Pipkin!” said Jack, trying to remember what he seemed to be trying to invent.
“Did I say anything of the kind to you? Give the boy the benefit of it, if I did,” said the deacon, turning to Mrs. Pipkin.
“I didn’t hear you,” replied that lady, precisely. “You didn’t say as much as I hoped you would say; for you knew I hadn’t words to express my opinion of Squire Peternot’s conduct.”
“Good!” said Mr. Pipkin, in a low but earnest voice, from the kitchen door. “I’m glad you said that!”
“And I shall say more, before the matter is settled!” said Mrs. Pipkin, compressing her thin lips. “For a man like Squire Peternot to come over here, and have Jack taken up for carrying off the money, no matter how he got it, is a sin and a shame! One of the richest farmers in town, and a member of the church! I believe you’d follow a penny rolling down hill to the very edge of Tophet, and burn your fingers getting it out!”
“Good agin, by hokey!” said Mr. Pipkin, at the door.
“Silence!” said the deacon, authoritatively. “Abuse is no argument. I’m trying to find out what I really said to give Jack encouragement in his iniquity, or to expose his lying.”
“Perhaps it was what Mrs. Pipkin said; he may have got it turned about a little,” said Mrs. Chatford, anxiously trying to shield the miserable culprit.