I want him arrested
for assault and battery."
"And what did you do?"
"I? I didn't do anything."
"That is rather strange. Young man, what
is your name?"
"Gilbert Vance."
"You don't live in this town?"
"No; I live in Warren."
"What made you attack Peter?"
"Because he flew at me, and I had to defend myself."
"Is this so, Simon? You saw all that happened."
"Ye--es," admitted Simon, unwillingly.
"That puts a different face on the matter.
I don't see how I can arrest this boy. He had
a right to defend himself."
"He came up and abused me--the loafer,"
said Peter.
"That was the reason you went at him?"
"Yes."
"Have you anything to say?" asked the
constable, addressing Gilbert.
"Yes, sir; when I came up I saw this boy
firing stones at a cat, who had taken refuge
in that tree over there. He had just hit her,
and had picked up a larger stone to fire when
I ordered him to drop it."
"It was no business of yours," muttered Peter.
"I made it my business, and will again."
"Did the cat have a white spot on her forehead?"
asked the constable.
"Yes, sir."
"And was mouse colored?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why, it's my little girl's cat. She would
be heartbroken if the cat were seriously hurt.
You young rascal!" he continued, turning
suddenly upon Peter, and shaking him vigorously.
"Let me catch you at this business again, and
I'll give you such a warming that you'll never
want to touch another cat."
"Let me go!" cried the terrified boy.
"I didn't know it was your cat.
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