If they had stayed, they might have seen Mickey throw down his weeding-fork suddenly and march out of the garden.
"Don't believe that boy is going to stick to his work," said Molly to Mother Morrison. "He's gone already."
But Mickey was hurrying along toward Miss Putnam's house and did not care very much what anyone thought of him. He didn't think kindly of himself at that moment.
"Why, Mickey!" Miss Putnam looked up at him in amazement as he came around to the back porch where she was sweeping a rug. "What's the matter, child, don't you feel well?"
"I feel all right," he said briefly. "Say, Miss Putnam, you know that tar that was on your porch? I threw it!"
"You—you what?" gasped Miss Putnam. "You threw that hot tar all over my clean porch and walk? Why, Mickey!"
"Yes'm," muttered Mickey miserably.
"But why?" insisted Miss Putnam. "And Mrs. Graham told me that the Morrison boy and girl did it."
"Guess she thought she saw 'em—it was most dark," said Mickey. "But it wasn't Roddy and Betty. I did it, and Nina, my little sister, helped me."
"But why?" persisted Miss Putnam. "I never should have thought it of you, Mickey, never."