"Excuse me for interrupting," she said, "but I couldn't help hearing your conversation, and I want to tell you the whole story. I saw you drive past, and the robe was hanging out of your buggy. This little boy,--his name is Launcelot, isn't it?--ran out to put it in. You called to him not to hang on, and he answered that he was only putting in your robe for you. Without stopping to listen, you struck him with your whip. It was a mean and cruel thing to do. Then he did shoot at you with his catapult, but you can't blame him for that! I should have done it myself if you had struck me."
The old man stood gazing uneasily from one to the other during this recital. He loosened his grasp of the boy with a muttered growl.
"Why didn't you talk louder then?" he said to the astonished Launcelot.
An embarrassed silence fell upon the little group. The old man seemed dazed by the unexpected turn affairs had taken. He stared off into space, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other without finding further words. Then he cast a hurried glance at the girl standing above him, and shuffled off into the growing darkness.
Mrs. Canary caught the young sharpshooter to her breast.
"Ma's little hero-ine," she said fondly. "That's what ye get fer doin' good to that old sarpint. But you was cleared all right, wasn't ye? Thank the lady, Launkelot."
"Launkelot" dug his bare foot into the floor, and murmured a few words that might be interpreted as an expression of gratitude.
"He is thankful, though bashful at the present moment," explained Mrs. Canary gratefully. "He ain't usened to havin' young ladies in white dresses, with hair of tarnished gold, springin' out of the dark like flamin' seruphims to defend him."
"Oh, I happened to be sitting on this side of the shelf, and I couldn't help hearing what was said," answered the girl merrily.
"The shelf, is it?" asked Mrs. Canary, looking puzzled.
The girl laughed. "The piazza,--the porch, I mean. We call it the shelf over here, because it's only about wide enough to set a pan of milk on. We're your new neighbours, you know."
"Well, it's glad I am to meet you," said Mrs. Canary heartily. "Fridoline, be sure the babies' fingers ain't in that crack when you lean against that door. We're glad to make your acquaintance and thankful fer your defence of us: ain't we, Launkelot? You see I couldn't rise in defence of my own innercent blood as swift as usual--I was that surprised at finding out who it was he had hitten. It was bold of you to talk that way to his face,--the old villain!"