Mark Manning's Mission. Alger Horatio Jr.

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      "Did you want me, father?" asked James.

      "James," said his father, abruptly, "Deacon Miller tells me that some one has shot his cow, old Whitey, this afternoon, and injured her so seriously that she will have to be killed."

      "I am sorry to hear it," said James, nervously.

      "Do you know who did it?"

      "How should I?" asked James, after a pause.

      "Wer'n't you out in the pastur' this afternoon?" asked the deacon, pointedly.

      "Yes," answered James, "Tom Wyman and I crossed the pasture."

      "With guns on your shoulders?"

      "Ye—es," admitted James.

      "Did you see anything of old Whitey?" continued the deacon, persevering in his pointed interrogations.

      "There were some cows there I remember; I suppose old Whitey was among them."

      "Did your gun go off while you were in the pasture?"

      "Ye—es, I believe it did. It went off accidentally."

      "And hit old Whitey?"

      "I don't know about that. It may not have hit anything."

      "Then you don't know that you hit my cow?"

      "I wasn't the only boy in the pasture this afternoon," said James, evasively.

      "I know all about that. Tom Wyman was with you."

      "Yes, and so was Mark Manning. He was out gunning most all the afternoon. Have you asked him whether he hit the cow?"

      "Yes," answered the deacon; "he says he didn't."

      "Of course he would say so," sneered James, more confidently. "He's just as likely to have done it as I."

      "That's what I thought myself," returned the deacon; "though Mark's a middlin' keerful boy. But I changed my mind."

      "Because he denied it?" asked James, with a return of the sneer.

      "Not exactly. There was a boy saw it done, and he told me who did it."

      "What boy saw it done?" asked James, all his apprehensions reviving.

      "John Downie."

      This was startling news to James.

      "And who does he say did it," he forced himself to ask.

      "You!" answered Deacon Miller, laconically.

      "I don't believe I did it," said James, wavering.

      "He says after you shot the cow, you and Tom Wyman ran away as fast as your legs could carry you," added the deacon, chuckling.

      James turned as red as scarlet, but said nothing. It was clear enough that he was guilty, and knew it.

      "Deacon Miller," said Squire Collins, "I will look into this matter, and if I find James shot your cow, we will make some arrangement about payment. Understand clearly, however, that I won't pay any fancy price, such as fifty dollars."

      "I won't argy the matter now, squire," said the deacon. "Good-evenin'."

      "James," said his father, "I won't scold you for a piece of carelessness, but whatever compensation is paid to the deacon must come from your account in the savings' bank."

      This was a sad blow to James, he had a hundred and fifty dollars in the bank, and this would make a heavy draft upon it.

      He went out into the yard without a word.

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