We had nothing to say. The justice seemed cheered by the entrance into the case of something lively, and asked the Deacon if he had any evidence to offer. We, the prisoners, were not encouraged, feeling very sure his testimony could not be in our favor. The justice had some trouble in getting things sobered down enough to swear the Deacon properly, but when this was accomplished he was allowed to give his account in his own way, which went something like this:
"Yes, your honor, I felt bad when the boys wanted them pound sweets, for I always do take to giving to boys—used to be a boy myself, you know, and it don't seem so very long ago neither, 'though I don't pretend to be as young as I was once. Well, when I got into my little tool-room in the barn to hang up my scythe, and sat there to cool off a bit, being as the evening was warmish, and them poor chaps, after having tired themselves all out trying to find something nice in the orchard, and couldn't, come to take a rest at the barn door, and says they, 'The Deacon's an old skinflint, and wants to put every cent he can in his pocket.' Likewise wishing every apple on his place would rot and such like—I say, Squire, I could hardly forbear just getting up and going out to them boys and saying, 'Boys, just you go 'n' get every pound sweet on that tree—don't you leave one.' But, you see, my wife, Mis' Dodd, had told me how she'd been and promised every individual one of them pound sweets to the hospital; for them poor souls lying there sick found it hard to get anything real relishing, and liked 'em baked. So I couldn't help myself, seeing she'd passed her word for a charity, and would 'a felt hard at me, naturally, if I'd gone back on her.
"But when the boys thought they'd like a little fun with the Jersey calf, I knew they wouldn't do the pretty creatur' any hurt, for I heard 'em saying how they knew I set great store by her. The evening was getting cooler then, so I just took a walk along behind the hedge, they being on t'other side.—You did have a time with her, didn't you, boys?"
What a roar went up from that roomful of listeners!
"'Twas tough; yes, I could see that, a regular tussle to get her along. I'd 'a helped you, for she follows me like a lamb, only I was afraid 'twould spoil your fun if I took hold too. So I just kept along till you tied her up safe and comfortable—"
Here Mike broke in, in total disregard of the proprieties of a court-room:
"But, Daacon, wheriver's the baste now? Be the howly poker she's clane gone off the farrum!"
"She's in the northeast corner pasture. I'd been calculating to put her there, to be more in the shade, and the boys gave me just so much help with her, you see. After I'd put her there and got home, I found a letter from my son Isaac, telling how he was sick, and wanted to see me and his mother, Mis' Dodd. So I just hitched up, and without waiting to see Mike, me and her started off to drive over there—better than four miles 'tis—and the calf slipped my mind till I just now got back, and heard tell how Mike here was making a bother with the boys. That's all, your honor."
His honor, I knew, had been dreadfully worried at not having been able to give more dignity to the court, and he now opened his mouth, I suppose to dismiss the proceedings in proper form, but the Deacon gave him no chance at all. I am not prepared to say that we three are not legally under arrest to this day.
"Better go back to your fishing now, boys," he said. "Too bad to have your day broke up so; but Mike meant well, you know."