Mary-'Gusta Part 17

The Sunday school picnic was to be held on the second Sat.u.r.day in June and Mary-'Gusta wished to attend it. She had never been to a real picnic, though the other children in Ostable had described such outings in glowing colors. Now, although she, a visitor, was not a regular member of the South Harniss Methodist Sunday school, the superintendent personally had invited her to go and Zoeth and the Captain had given their consent. Not to go would be a heart-breaking calamity. She finally resolved to be very, very good and obedient from that time on.

But good resolutions are broken occasionally, even by grown-ups, and in childhood much can be forgotten in nine days. So, on the afternoon of the tenth day, which was the day before the picnic, Mary-'Gusta walking alone in the field which separated the Gould-Hamilton property from that of Abner Bacheldor, Jimmie's father--Mary-'Gusta, walking in that field, was depressed and melancholy. Her state of mind was indicated by the fact that she had left all her dolls, even Rose and Rosette, at home.

She felt guilty and wicked and conscience-stricken. She had been a bad girl; only one other knew how bad she had been and he, being guilty likewise, would not betray her. But at home Isaiah Chase was, as he said, "heatin' himself to a bile" baking apple turnovers for her to take to the picnic. And Captain Shadrach had announced his intention of bringing her, from the store, candy and bananas to go into the lunch basket with the turnovers and sandwiches and cake. And the Captain had that very day called her a good girl. If he only knew!

There had been a flurry of excitement in the kitchen just after dinner.

Mr. Bacheldor had appeared at the door with the request that he might "borrer the loan of Cap'n Gould's shotgun." The day before, at a quarter after four--Mr. Bacheldor was certain as to the time because he had been "layin' down two or three minutes on the sofy afore goin' out to look at some wood there was to cut in the shed, and I'd just got up and looked at the clock afore I looked out of the settin'-room winder"--looking out of that window he had seen a cat running from his henyard with one of his recently hatched Plymouth Rock chickens in its mouth.

"If I'd had a gun then," declared Abner, "I could have blowed the critter to thunder-and-gone. But I'll get him next time. Let me have the gun, will you, Isaiah? I know Shad'll say it's all right when you tell him."

That shotgun was a precious arm. It had been given to the Captain years before by the officers of a sinking schooner, whom Shadrach's boat's crew, led by Shadrach himself, had rescued at a big risk off the Great South School. It had the Captain's name, with an inscription and date, on a silver plate fastened to the stock. Isaiah was not too willing to lend it, but chicken stealing is a capital offense in South Harniss, as it is in most rural communities, and the cat caught in the act is summarily executed.

So Mr. Chase went to the Captain's room and returned with the gun.

"There you be, Ab," he said. "Hope you get the critter."

"Oh, I'll get him all right, don't you fret. Say, Isaiah--er--er--" Mr.

Bacheldor hesitated. "Say," he went on, "you couldn't let me have two or three cartridges, could you? I ain't got none in the house."

Isaiah looked more doubtful than ever, but he brought the cartridges.

After making sure, by inquiry and inspection, that they were loaded, the borrower started to go.

"Oh, I say, Ab," Mr. Chase called after him; "know whose cat 'twas?"

Mr. Bacheldor did not appear to hear, so the question was repeated.

Abner answered without turning.

"I know," he declared. "I know all right," and hurried on. Isaiah looked after him and sniffed disdainfully.

"Anybody on earth but that feller," he said, "would have been ashamed to beg cartridges after beggin' the gun, but not Ab Bacheldor, no sir!

Wonder he didn't want to borrer my Sunday hat to practice shootin' at."

Mary-'Gusta considered shooting a cat the height of cruelty and dreadfulness but she was aware of the universal condemnation of chicken stealing and kept her thought to herself. Besides, she had her own wickedness to consider.

She walked slowly on across the field, bound nowhere in particular, thinking hard and feeling very wretched and miserable. The pleasure of the next day, the day she had been antic.i.p.ating, was spoiled already for her. If she went to that picnic without making a full and free confession she knew she would feel as mean and miserable as she was feeling now. And if she did confess, why then--

Her meditations were interrupted in a startling manner. She was midway of the field, upon the other side of which was a tumbledown stone wall, and a cl.u.s.ter of wild cherry trees and bayberry bushes marking the boundary of the Bacheldor land. From behind the wall and bushes sounded the loud report of a gun; then the tramp of running feet and an excited shouting:

"You missed him," screamed a voice. "You never hit him at all. There he goes! There he goes! Give him t'other barrel quick!"

Mary-'Gusta, who had been startled nearly out of her senses by the shot and the shouting, stood perfectly still, too surprised and frightened even to run. And then out of the bushes before her darted a scared tortoise-sh.e.l.l cat, frantically rus.h.i.+ng in her direction. The cat was David.

"He's hidin' in them bushes," shouted the voice again. "Stay where you be, Pop. I'll scare him out and then you give it to him."

Mary-'Gusta stood still no longer. The sight of her idolized pet running for his life was enough to make her forget fright and everything else.

She too ran, but not toward home.

"David!" she screamed. "Oh, David! Come here! David!"

David may have recognized the voice, but if so the recognition made no difference. The cat kept straight on. The girl ran across its path.

It dodged and darted into a beachplum thicket, a cul-de-sac of tangled branches and thick gra.s.s. Before the animal could extricate itself Mary-'Gusta had seized it in her arms. It struggled and fought for freedom but the child held it tight.

"David!" she panted. "Oh, don't, David! Please be still! They shan't hurt you; I won't let 'em. Please!"

Through the bushes above the wall appeared the freckled face of Con--christened Cornelius--Bacheldor. Con was Jimmie's elder brother.

"He must have got through," he shouted. "He--no, there he is. She's got him, Pop. Make her put him down."

Mr. Abner Bacheldor crashed through to his son's side. He was carrying a gun.

"You put that cat down," screamed Con, threateningly.

Mary-'Gusta said nothing. Her heart was beating wildly but she held the struggling David fast.

"It's that kid over to Shad Gould's," declared Con. "Make her give you a shot, Pop."

Mr. Abner Bacheldor took command of the situation.

"Here, you!" he ordered. "Fetch that critter here. I want him."

Still Mary-'Gusta did not answer. She was pale and her small knees shook, but she neither spoke nor moved from where she stood. And her grip upon the cat tightened.

"Fetch that cat here," repeated Abner. "We're goin' to shoot him; he's been stealin' our chickens."

At this accusation and the awful threat accompanying it, Mary-'Gusta forgot her terror of the Bacheldors, of the gun, forgot everything except her pet and its danger.

"I shan't!" she cried frantically. "I shan't! He ain't! He's my cat and he don't steal chickens."

"Yes, he does, too," roared Con. "Pop and I see him doin' it."

"You didn't! I don't believe it! When did you see him?"

"Yesterday afternoon. We see him, didn't we, Pop?"

"You bet your life we did," growled Abner. "And he was on my land again just now; comin' to steal more, I cal'late. Fetch him here."

"I--I shan't! He shan't be shot, even if he did steal 'em. And I know he didn't. If you shoot him I'll--I'll tell Uncle Zoeth and--and Cap'n Gould. And I won't let you have him anyhow. I won't," with savage defiance. "If you shoot him you'll have to shoot me, too."

Con climbed over the wall. "You just wait, Pop," he said. "I'll take him away from her."

But his father hesitated. There were certain reasons why he thought it best not to be too arbitrary.

"Hold on, Con," he said. "Look here, sis, I'm sorry to have to kill your cat, but I've got to. He steals chickens and them kind of cats has to be shot. I see him myself yesterday afternoon. I told Isaiah Chase myself that . . . why, you was there and heard me! You heard me tell how I was lookin' out of the winder at quartet past four and see that cat--"

Mary-'Gusta interrupted. Her expression changed. She was still dreadfully frightened but in her tone was a note of relief, of confident triumph.

"You didn't see him," she cried. "It wasn't David; it wasn't this cat you saw. I KNOW it wasn't."

"Well, I know it was. Now don't argue no more. You fetch that cat here or I'll have Con take him away from you. Hurry up!"