“Won't I be put in jail?” she asked, more hopefully.
“Indeed you won't. I never put anybody in jail in my life; though,” with an emphatic nod, “there's some folks ought to go there for frightenin' children out of their senses. Did that Mrs. Hobbs tell you I was goin' to—what was it?—knock your head off and all the rest?”
“Yes, sir, she did.”
“Well, she's a—she's what she is. What else did she say to you?”
“She—she said I was a bad, wicked child and she hoped I'd be sent to the—the orphans' home. If she was to have the care of me, she said, she'd make me walk a chalk or know why. And she sent me to my room and said I couldn't have any supper.”
Zoeth and the Captain looked at each other. Baxter frowned.
“On the very day of her father's funeral,” he muttered.
“Can't I have any supper?” begged Mary-'Gusta. “I'm awful hungry; I didn't want much dinner.”
Zoeth nodded. His tone, when he spoke, was not so mild as was usual with him.
“You shall have your supper,” he said.