"Yes, sir; when I came up I saw this boy firing stones at a cat, who
had taken refuge in that tree over there. He had just hit her, and had
picked up a larger stone to fire when I ordered him to drop it."

"It was no business of yours," muttered Peter.

"I made it my business, and will again."

"Did the cat have a white spot on her forehead?" asked the constable.

"Yes, sir."

"And was mouse colored?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why, it's my little girl's cat. She would be heartbroken if the cat
were seriously hurt. You young rascal!" he continued, turning suddenly
upon Peter, and shaking him vigorously. "Let me catch you at this
business again, and I'll give you such a warming that you'll never want
to touch another cat."

"Let me go!" cried the terrified boy. "I didn't know it was your cat."

"It would have been just as bad if it had been somebody else's cat. I've
a great mind to put you in the lockup."

"Oh, don't, please don't, Mr. Rogers!" implored Peter, quite
panic-stricken.