"How happens it, my friend, that this little animal bears such marks of ill treatment? See how he limps. Look at this gash."
"O," said Mr. Grimes, "he lamed himself by kicking out against the coal-box; he's a nervous thing."
Mr. Parlin then told the boys' story.
"It is not so, upon my word and honor, sir," replied sooty-faced Mr. Grimes, with great amazement. "I'll leave it to Mr. Fox."
Mr. Fox, and two or three other men, declared very positively that they had seen little Wings beating himself against the coal-box; and one of them pointed out to Mr. Parlin the blood-stain on the edge of the wood.
"You can't trust much to what boys say, especially such harum-scarum fellows as Ed Johnson," added Mr. Fox. "I shouldn't wonder, now, Grimes, if he and that Piper boy got their tempers up, and tried to spite you, for ordering them out of the shop. They were troublesome, and he had to speak sharp," added Mr. Fox, addressing Mr. Parlin again.
"That's so!" exclaimed Mr. Grimes. "You take three little chaps, and have 'em meddling with your nails, and sticking scraps of iron into the coals, and it makes a man cross—or it frets me, and I told 'em to quit."
"Saucy little rogues," chimed in Mr. Fox, anxious for the honor of his workman.
"As for my striking the pony," continued Mr. Grimes, "I might have patted him once or twice with the handle of the hammer. I often do that; but my blows wouldn't kill a fly."
After a little more conversation Mr. Parlin was satisfied that no real cruelty had been used towards Wings. Susy's heart rose like a feather.