keep us in here. If it hadn’t been for his old dog—”
The farmer’s footsteps sounded in the entry and he entered the room, his shot-gun still under his arm. He looked around suspiciously, as though expecting to find the marble-topped center table and the cottage organ missing, and cast shrewd glances at the boy’s pockets.
“Well, you see we haven’t stolen anything,” said Chub.
“Well, I ain’t taking your word for it,” said the farmer, dryly. “Maybe if I hadn’t come when I did—”
“Now, don’t be unreasonable,” begged Chub. “I’ve told you how we came to be here. We were passing along the road and wanted some milk—”
“Thought you’d find it in the parlor, did ye?”
“No, but your dog chased us in the back door and we couldn’t make any one hear by shouting—”
“You shouted pretty loud, didn’t ye?”
“Yes, I did,” answered Chub, defiantly, “but that idiotic dog made such a row with his barking that you couldn’t hear me. So then we came
