"Give him this," she said in a soft undertone. "I'm sorry, but I hadn't
a chance to say a word to the boy, and so I couldn't think of any other
way of making sure he would not go up to Morgan's. I put something into
his coffee to make him sick. You may tell him, Jerry, if you like. I
should, if I had the chance. This will counteract the effects of the
other so that he will be all right in a couple of hours."

Jerry took the glass and stood looking at her steadily. "That sure was
one way to do it," he observed, with a quirk of the lips. "It's none of
my business, and I ain't asking any questions, but--"

"Very sensible, I'm sure," Marian interrupted him. "I wish he'd leave
the country. Can't you--?"

"No. I told him to pull out, and he just laughed at me. I knowed they
was figuring on ganging together to-night--"

Marian closed her hands together with a gesture of impatience. "Jerry, I
wish I knew just how bad you are!" she exclaimed. "Do you dare stand by
him? Because this thing is only beginning. I couldn't bear to see him go
up there to-night, absolutely unsuspecting--and so I made him sick. Tell
that to anyone, and you can make me--"

"Say, I ain't a damned skunk!" Jerry muttered. "I'm bad enough, maybe.
At any rate you think so." Then, as usually happened, Jerry decided to
hold his tongue. He turned and lifted the latch of the screen door. "You
sure made a good job of it," he grinned. "I'll go an' pour this into Bud
'fore he loses his boots!"

He did so, and saved Bud's boots and half a night's sleep besides.
Moreover, when Bud, fully recovered, searched his memory of that supper
and decided that it was the sliced cucumbers that had disagreed with
him, Jerry gravely assured him that it undoubtedly was the combination
of cucumber and custard pie, and that Bud was lucky to be alive after
such reckless eating.

Having missed the dance altogether, Bud looked forward with impatience
to Sunday. It is quite possible that others shared with him that
impatience, though we are going to adhere for a while to Bud's point of
view and do no more than guess at the thoughts hidden behind the fair
words of certain men in the Valley.

Pop's state of mind we are privileged to know, for Pop was seen making
daily pilgrimage to the pasture where he could watch Smoky limping
desultorily here and there with Stopper and Sunfish. On Saturday
afternoon Bud saw Pop trying to get his hands on Smoky, presumably to
examine the lame ankle