He entered Mary-'Gusta's room. The child was in bed, the dolls beside her. She was not asleep, however. The tear stains on her cheeks and the dampness of the pillow showed how she had spent the time since leaving the dining-room.
Shadrach put the lamp upon the washstand, pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down. He took her hand in his.
“Mary-'Gusta,” he said, gently, “you knew 'twas my gun that Ab Bacheldor was tryin' to shoot David with?”
Mary-'Gusta moved her head up and down on the pillow.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“You was here when he borrowed it?”
“Yes, sir. And then I knew it was yours when he had it there in the field. I saw the silver name thing on the handle. It kind of shined in the sun.”
“Um-hm. Yes, yes. I see. You knew it, of course. But you didn't tell me. Why on earth didn't you? Didn't you know that if I'd realized that swab had borrered my gun to kill my cat that would have been enough? If the critter had stole a million chickens 'twouldn't have made any difference if I'd known THAT. The cheeky lubber! Well, he won't shoot at anything of ours for one spell, I'll bet. But why didn't you tell me?”
Mary-'Gusta's answer was promptly given.
“Why, 'cause,” she said, “that was just it. I knew if you knew that you wouldn't care whether David stole the chicken or not. And I wanted you to know he didn't.”