"No, sir," he said. "I wasn't hidin'."
"Well, who killed Pete?"
His heart began to pound in his ears; the eyes of his father held him; he had almost owned up; then it came over him, as all such things come, by inspiration. There stood old Frank, gently wagging his tail. Frank had nothing to lose; nothing would be done to Frank. Frank's reputation was spotless; it could stand a stain or two. Eagerly he smiled up into his father's face.
"F'ank killed him!" he said.
For a moment the air was electric with uncertainty. Then his mother spoke, her eyes full of pain and reproach.
"Why, dear!"
"Honey, honey!" remonstrated Aunt Cindy, "you know dat dawg——!"
But a quick glance from his father silenced this feminine outburst. "All right, old scout," said Earle gravely. "Just as you say. We'll go back to the house now; and we'll see to it that Frank doesn't kill any more chickens."
Tommy took a deep breath; he could hardly believe his ears. He had braced himself for fight, prepared himself to defend his assertion, and now there wasn't going to be any fight at all. At first he thought his father must have understood and become particeps in the secret with him and Frank and the gun. Then it dawned on his delighted mind—his father actually believed what he had said!