“Umph!” said Mr. Parker.
Sam licked dry lips. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve thought it out,—what I ought to do, sir. And—and I’m here to make a clean breast of things.”
The father studied the boy’s face for a moment. “Sam,” he said slowly, “Sam, I can see that you’re greatly exercised about something or other. What it is I don’t know. I had intended to have you on the carpet for being late for dinner and supper, but I’m afraid this is something more serious. But whatever it is, I hope you’ll do just what you say you wish to do—make a clean breast of it.”
“And face the music!” There was a new note in the boy’s voice, a firmer note.
“That’s part of the game of life, Sam—if you play the game fairly and squarely.”
Sam drew a long breath, and made his plunge. “Father, you’ve heard about the arrest of Peter Groche? They say he shot at Major Bates. Well, he didn’t—but I did!”
Mr. Parker bent forward; he was looking into the boy’s eyes, and the boy did not quail under his scrutiny.
“I don’t ask you if you’re in earnest, Sam. I know that you are. Go on!”
“I took your gun this morning, and went out to the Marlow woods. I’d been told there were deer there. I was crouching under some bushes, and looking across a hollow, when I saw something dark on the other side. It moved, and I fired. Then a man’s head showed. I didn’t recognize him. I was so scared that I burrowed deeper in the bushes—hid for a while, sir. Then I realized I ought to do something. So I crossed the hollow. I found blood spots, but the man had gone away. It seemed as if he couldn’t have been badly hurt. Then I came home. I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell anybody, but—but now they’ve locked up Peter Groche for what I did.”
“When did you learn of the arrest?”