“Um, I see. But if you had told me you wouldn't have had to tell about the parlor. I'D never asked a single question.”
“Ye-yes, sir; but I wanted you to know David doesn't steal chickens.”
Shadrach swallowed hard. “I see,” he said. “Yes, yes, I see. So just to clear that cat you was willin' to give up the picnic and everything.”
Mary-'Gusta sobbed: “I—I did want to go so,” she moaned.
The Captain lifted her from the pillow and put his arm about her.
“You ARE goin',” he declared, emphatically, “you just bet you're goin'.”
“Oh! Oh, am I? Am I really? I—I know I hadn't ought to. I was a bad girl.”
“You! You're a dummed good girl! The best and squarest—yes, and the spunkiest little girl I ever saw. You're a brick.”
“I'm awful sorry I went into the parlor, Cap'n Gould.”
“Blast the parlor! I don't care if you stay in there a week and smash everything in it. And—and, see here, Mary-'Gusta, don't you call me 'Cap'n Gould' any more. Call me 'Uncle Shad,' will you?”