Jim and Jack loyally looked as though they were trying their hardest to remember, but could not feel quite sure.
“Yes,” broke in old Jed, “who was doin’ it? That’s what I want to know. ’Cos all I got to say is that it’ll cost somebody’s father a consid’able to make good the damages to the coach and the hosses. The pole is snapped and the sorrel is actin’ kind o’ droopy.”
A smothered laugh ran around the group of boys, whose number had by this time been considerably increased. No one in Oldtown had ever known either sorrel or gray to be anything else than “droopy.”
Jed transfixed the boys with a stony stare. He had, at least, the courage of his convictions.
“Yes, sir-ree,” he went on, “them hosses is vallyble, and I don’t kalkilate to be done out of my rights by nobody, just becos some fool boy didn’t have sense enough to keep from scarin’ ’em. Somebody’s father has got to pay, and pay good, or I’ll have the law on ’em, by ginger! Come along now. Who done it?”
“Jed is right, as far as that goes,” said Mr. Aaron Rushton. “Of course, it was an accident, but it was a mighty careless one and somebody will have to make good the damage. Now, I’m going to ask you boys, one by one—”
Teddy stepped forward. His heart was in his boots. The game was up and he would have to face the consequences. He knew that none of the other boys would tell on him, and he would be safe enough in denying it, when the question came to him. But the thought of doing this never even occurred to him. The Rushton boys had been brought up to tell the truth.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Aaron,” he said, “but I’m the one that hit the ball.”