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!”

“I know it wasn’t David,” began Mary-’Gusta.  Then, as Con started in her direction, she turned and ran, ran as hard as she could, bearing David in her arms.  Con ran after her.

It was the cat that saved the situation and its life at the same time.  Mary-’Gusta was near the edge of the pine grove and Con was close at her heels.  David gave one more convulsive, desperate wriggle, slid from the girl’s arms and disappeared through the pines like a gray projectile.

Mary-’Gusta collapsed on the grass and burst into frightened, hysterical sobs.  Con took one or two steps after the flying cat and gave up the chase.  Mr. Bacheldor, from behind the wall, swore emphatically and at length.

“Come here, Con, you fool,” he yelled, when the expression of his true feelings had reached a temporary end.  “Come here! let the kid alone.  We’ll get into trouble if we don’t.  As for that dummed cat, we’ll get him next time.  He’ll see his finish.  Come on, I tell you.”

Con reluctantly rejoined his parent and the pair departed, muttering threats.  Mary-’Gusta, the tears running down her cheeks, ran home to find David and plead with Mr. Chase for her pet’s safety and protection from its persecutors.  But Isaiah had gone up to the store on an errand.  David, however, was crouching, a trembling heap, under the kitchen stove.  The girl pulled him out, fled with him to the garret, and there, with the door locked, sat shivering and sobbing until Captain Shad came home for supper that night.

The Captain’s first question when he arrived was concerning Mary-’Gusta’s whereabouts.  Isaiah said he had not seen her for two hours or more.  And just then the child herself appeared, entering the kitchen from the door leading to the back stairs.

“Hello, Mary-’Gusta!” hailed Shadrach.  “Thought you was lost.  Supper’s about ready to put on the table.  Why, what’s the matter?  Been cryin’, ain’t you?”

Mary-’Gusta went straight to him and clutched his hand.  “Please, Cap’n Gould,” she begged, “will you come into the sittin’-room a minute?  I—­I want to ask you somethin’.  I want you to do somethin’ for me, will you?”