"What for?"
"I thought she might scratch up some of the potatoes," said Sam, a brilliant excuse dawning upon him.
"How long did it take you to chase her out of the field, where she wasn't doing any harm?"
"I was afraid she'd come back, so I chased her a good ways."
"Did you catch her?"
"No, but I drove her away. I guess she won't come round here again," said Sam, in the tone of one who had performed a virtuous action.
"Did you come right back?"
"I sat down to rest. You see I was pretty tired with running so fast."
"If you didn't run any faster than you have worked, a snail would catch you in half a minute," said the old man, with justifiable sarcasm. "Samuel, your excuse is good for nothing. I must punish you."
Sam stood on his guard, prepared to run if the deacon should make hostile demonstrations. But his guardian was not a man of violence, and did not propose to inflict blows. He had another punishment in view suited to Sam's particular case.