"Say," he went on, "you couldn't let me have two or three cartridges, could you?
I ain't got none in the house." Isaiah looked more doubtful than ever, but he brought the cartridges.
After making sure, by inquiry and inspection, that they were loaded, the borrower started to go.
"Oh, I say, Ab," Mr.Chase called after him; "know whose cat 'twas ?" Mr.Bacheldor did not appear to hear, so the question was repeated.
Abner answered without turning.
"I know," he declared.

"I know all right," and hurried on.

Isaiah looked after him and sniffed disdainfully.
"Anybody on earth but that feller," he said, "would have been ashamed to beg cartridges after beggin' the gun, but not Ab Bacheldor, no sir! Wonder he didn't want to borrer my Sunday hat to practice shootin' at." Mary-'Gusta considered shooting a cat the height of cruelty and dreadfulness but she was aware of the universal condemnation of chicken stealing and kept her thought to herself.

Besides, she had her own wickedness to consider.
She walked slowly on across the field, bound nowhere in particular, thinking hard and feeling very wretched and miserable.

The pleasure of the next day, the day she had been anticipating, was spoiled already for her.