“No, it wasn’t!” Jack maintained stoutly. “He said it. I didn’t hear him, but Phin did; Phin came out when I was milking and told me.”
All eyes were now turned upon Phin; and—either because he had intentionally deceived Jack, or because, which is more probable, having confounded what Mrs. Pipkin said with what his father said, he was afraid to confess the blunder and assume his share of the responsibility—that treacherous-hearted youngster put on an air of outraged innocence, and exclaimed loudly, “O, I never said such a thing! I never said a word to him about it! Hope to die this minute if I did!”
“You did! you know you did!” And Jack, driven to desperation, advanced, shaking his fist at Phin, and passionately accusing him of falsehood.
“That will do,” said Deacon Chatford. “I’ve nothing more to say. His trying to get out of the scrape by lying, and shifting the blame first on to me and then on to somebody else, seems to me worse than the thing itself. He must take the consequences!”
CHAPTER XXI
JACK IN DISGRACE.
“I s’pose my nag is gitting a little mite impatient,” remarked the constable. “Shall we be driving along? Put on your shoes, sonny; not your Sunday-go-to-meeting pair; these and the other things will have to go to court with you, to be put into the evidence.”
“Hearken to me one moment!” said Mrs. Chatford, laying one hand protectingly on Jack’s shoulder, and holding her husband’s arm with the other. “Both of you! Don’t be too hard on this unfortunate boy! You know, husband, how he came to us; he was the victim of a false accusation then. Appearances are often deceitful. Remember, Squire Peternot, how you were once on the point of having his dog shot for a fault which another dog had committed. We are all liable, under the most favorable circumstances,—sometimes—to make mistakes.”
“If you think there is any mistake here, Mis’ Chatford,” answered the squire, “I must say you show a failin’ judgment.”