"No, it isn't, deacon. I didn't shoot her, but I have no doubt some one else did."
"It may have been the cat," remarked the deacon, with a return to sarcasm.
"It was probably a two-legged cat," said Mark.
"Jest my idee!" remarked the deacon, quickly, "An' that brings it home to you. You was out with a gun, an' I caught you standin' beside the cow."
"As to catching me," returned Mark, "there was no catching about it. I was crossing the pasture, and was attracted by the poor animal's moans. That is the way I happened to be near when you came up."
"That all sounds very smooth," said the deacon, impatiently, "but if you didn't shoot the cow, who did?"
"I think that question can be answered, Deacon Miller; John Downie!"
To the deacon's surprise, John came into the room at this summons.
"Johnny," said Mark, "will you tell the deacon who shot his cow!"
"I don't like to tell," objected John; "it wasn't done on purpose."