"I reckon you were in my truck garden this afternoon, weren't
you?"
"Why---er----ye-es," admitted Laura, the first to find her voice.
She rose and faced Mr. Dobson with a look of budding uneasiness.
"Took lot of my vegetables, didn't you?" pressed the farmer.
"Ye-es," faltered Laura, "but-----"
"Excuse me, miss, but there aren't many kinds of 'buts' about a
transaction of that kind," insisted the farmer.
Here, Dr. Bentley, who had looked less concerned than anyone else
present, broke in:
"Your name is Dobson?" he asked.
"Not Gibson, then?" pressed the doctor.
"Course my name isn't Gibson, if it's Dobson," retorted the farmer.
"There is a man named Gibson who lives 'bout a quarter of a mile
from my place."
"Then I imagine I shall have to take you one side and have a little
conversation with you," smiled the doctor, rising. "Will you
follow me?"
The farmer nodded without speaking and the two men walked away.
Ten minutes later Dr. Bentley returned to the young people.
"I appeased the farmer's wrath," he announced, with a laugh.
"And now, young ladies, if my judgment is worth anything, I think
it is about time to let the cat out of the bag."
Eight high school girls flushed and looked rather confused.
"Why, has anything wrong been going on?" inquired Mrs. Bentley
anxiously, while Mrs. Meade waited breathlessly for the reply.
"Nothing extremely wrong," replied Dr.
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