"Somebody put rubbish into it."
"Who done it, did you hear 'em say?"
"I don't know who did it; and I should be sorry to accuse any person of such an act," Vinnie answered with firm but serene dignity.
The boys looked more sheepish and giggled less.
"I know who put stuff in the spring," spoke up a little one, proud of being able to convey useful information; "Dud and Zeph—"
But at that moment Dud's hand stopped the prattler's mouth.
"I don't believe my boys have done anything of the kind," said Peakslow; "though 't wouldn't be strange if they did. See how that great lubberly Rufe treated our Zeph yist'day! rubbed the dirt into his skin so 't he hain't got it washed out yit."
"I am sorry for these misunderstandings," said Vinnie, turning to Mrs. Peakslow with an appealing look. "I wish you and my sister knew each other better. You have a sick child, too, I see."
"'T ain't sick, 'xac'ly," replied the mother in a peevish, snarling tone. "Pulled over the teapot, and got hands and arms scalt."
"O, poor little thing!" Vinnie exclaimed. "What have you done for it?"