'Well, here is my boy. Saw the dog in the yard, didn't you, boy?'
'Yes, I did, said the boy. 'I saw it with my own eyes, slinking away in the dusk.'
'Are you sure?' asked Douglas's father.
'Quite sure, sir,' answered the boy.
'I have never caught him telling lies,' said the man. 'I would take his word before your boy's.'
The upshot of it was that the chickens were again paid for, and Bully the favourite—Bully, who was almost one of the family—was condemned to go. Douglas polished his coat-sleeve with some salt tears in private, and Bully poked him all over with his damp cool nose, as if he guessed that something was wrong.
Towards evening, Douglas went out, taking Bully with him. He thought he would see for himself if Bully would try to take the chickens, and with this idea, went up the garden to a place overlooking the farm hen-roost. The chickens were chirping and snuggling on their perches, and he felt sure that Bully was innocent, for he did not even prick an ear at the sound.
As he stood there, somebody came quietly up the yard.
'The boy, to shut up for the evening,' thought Douglas, for he knew that at this time the farmer was generally out with the milk. But when they came nearer he saw that there were two people, the cowboy and a man with a bag.
Douglas tightened his hold on the dog's collar to cut short a growl, and listened with all his ears, as the lad went into the shed, and some squawking and fluttering went on.