"He says after you shot the cow, you and Tom Wyman ran away as fast as your legs could carry you," added the deacon, chuckling.
James turned as red as scarlet, but said nothing. It was clear enough that he was guilty, and knew it.
"Deacon Miller," said Squire Collins, "I will look into this matter, and if I find James shot your cow, we will make some arrangement about payment. Understand clearly, however, that I won't pay any fancy price, such as fifty dollars."
"I won't argy the matter now, squire," said the deacon. "Good-evenin'."
"James," said his father, "I won't scold you for a piece of carelessness, but whatever compensation is paid to the deacon must come from your account in the savings' bank."
This was a sad blow to James, he had a hundred and fifty dollars in the bank, and this would make a heavy draft upon it.
He went out into the yard without a word.
"It's all up, Tom," he said. "John Downie has been telling tales about me. The first time I see him I'll give him a licking."
"And serve him right, too, little tell-tale!" said Tom.
Johnny did not expect what was in store for him, but he was soon to be enlightened.