The captain had been about to confess that it was he who left the gate open, but he changed his mind. Apparently she had been on the point of saying something more. The confession could wait.
"What was it?" asked the young woman.
"Oh, nothin', nothin'."
"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter much how they got out, as long as they did. But I am very sorry they got into Mr. Cahoon's garden. I hope they haven't completely ruined it."
They both turned to survey the battlefield. It was—like all battlefields after the strife is ended—a sad spectacle.
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed the visitor. "I am afraid they have. What will Mr. Cahoon say?"
The captain smiled slightly.
"I hope you don't expect me to answer that," he observed.
"Why?... Oh, I see! Well, I don't know that I should blame him much. Have—have they left anything?"
"Oh, yes! Yes, indeed. There are a good many—er—sprouts left. And they dug up a lot of weeds besides. Judah ought to be thankful for the weeds, anyhow."