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"Davy, Davy, what shall I do?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. As I was silent, he addressed the same appeal to Penelope, and she, in answer, ran to the door and pointed across the clearing. "Look, father," she shouted; "he has come back." Byron Lukens had indeed returned and with a heavy reinforcement.
"He told me particular he didn't mean it, but having done it, and they not understanding that he didn't mean it, he kind of had to get out till things blowed over." "Didn't he do wrong to shoot Mr. Lukens?" "Wrong?" My tone expressed the greatest astonishment at such an idea. "Why, Penelope, if I was him I'd have done exactly the same thing exactly."
"And oh, Davy, you'd have died laughing if you had seen Mr. Lukens tumble over the wood-pile and hit his head against the rain-barrel." I stared at the Professor. I had liked him for his kindness to me and had pitied him for his misfortune.
Now I was beginning to think that I had done as well to drop a post-card in the mail to warn him of his danger. The disappointment brought tears to my eyes. He saw them. His face turned very gentle and he leaned across the table toward me. "Davy, I can't thank you enough for what you have done. But don't worry about me I'm not afraid of Byron Lukens."
"Davy, can't you suggest something?" In my pride at being asked for advice by one so old, I sat up very straight as I had seen my father do and allowed a proper interval of silence before I spoke. "Yes," I replied slowly. "If you were me I'd run away before Mr. Lukens got back." This excellent suggestion was met by a frown so fierce that I pushed back from the table in alarm.
The Professor drew back from the door and stood before me brushing his matted hair from his face. "I didn't mean it, Davy," he said. "It was all a mistake. They were going away and I was dropping the gun, and somehow I touched the trigger and Lukens fell. They've taken him home, but they'll come back a hundred of them this time. Oh, Davy, Davy, help me!" I knew that I could not help him.
So I struggled to my feet and staggered on. At last he heard me, sprang up, and came striding over the clearing. Then my tired legs crumpled up; I sat down suddenly and, supported by my sprawling hands, waited for him. "Davy Davy Malcolm," he cried, "who has been chasing you now?" "A warrant!" I gasped. "Mr. Lukens, he is coming with a warrant to arrest you!"
Smiley and Miss Spinner, Mrs. Pound, and a score of others of the great folk of the valley. I faced them with defiance in my eyes, for were not they the authors of the Professor's troubles and was I not his only friend? "It's Penelope Blight," I said, "and I promised the Professor to take care of her." "What?" cried Mr. Pound. "The Professor's daughter the man who almost killed Constable Lukens?
Morris, and the pretty girls of the other side, like Sarah Lukens and the Misses Willing, with their family gift of beauty. These and more came and went at my aunt's, with men of all parties, and the grave Drs. Rush and Parke, and a changing group of English officers. In the little old house at Belmont, the Rev.
"What did we elect Byron Lukens for?" "Precisely!" cried Mr. Pound. "The one arrest he has made was a source of endless trouble," returned Squire Crumple. "He had to lock the prisoner overnight in his best room, and his wife has since said distinctly and repeatedly that " "You can avoid trouble with Mrs. Lukens by arresting him in the morning," said Mr. Pound.
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