"Ye--yes, sir."

Zoeth protested. "She ain't a bad girl, Shadrach," he said. "You know
she ain't."

"Well--er--maybe she ain't, generally speakin'. I cal'late 'twas that
Bacheldor brat that was responsible; but just the same I ain't goin'
to have it happen any more. Mary-'Gusta, if you and that
consarned--what's-his-name--Jimmie--go into that parlor again, unless
Isaiah or one of us are with you, I--I--by the jumpin' Judas, me and
Zoeth won't let you go to the Sunday school picnic. There! I mean that
and so does Zoeth. Shut up, Zoeth! You do mean it, too. You know mighty
well either your dad or mine would have skinned us alive if we'd done
such a thing when we was young-ones. And," turning to the culprit, "if
you fetch that cat in there, I'll--I'll--I don't know what I'll do."

The Sunday school picnic was to be held on the second Saturday 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