He glanced at a clock on the wall.
"Where did you get this butterfly ?" he inquired, harmlessly, and the boy fell into the net.
"In that field just beyond the oak grove on the road to New Sanderson," he replied, with entire innocence.
Anderson surveyed him sharply.
"When is afternoon school out ?" asked Anderson.
"At four o'clock," replied the boy, with such unsuspicion that the man's conscience smote him.

It was too easy.
"Well," said Anderson, slowly.

He did not look at the boy, but went on straightening the mangled wing of the butterfly which he had offered on his shrine.

"Well," he said, "how did you get time to go to that field and catch this butterfly?
You say it took a long time, and that field is a good twenty minutes' run from here, and it is a quarter of five now." The boy kicked his feet against the rounds of his chair and made no reply.

His forehead was scowling, his mouth set.