Goody fancied he had been; leastways he went out after supper, and were gone an hour or so. What with the fires, and what with the opening and shutting o' the winders to keep the hot-houses at proper temperture, an head-gardener didn't sit on a bed o' idle roses, as Dr. Duff'm knew. Mr. Duffham was beginning to make pretty sure of winning his game. His manner suddenly changed. Pushing the empty cup from him, he leaned forward, and laid hold of Mrs. Picker by the two wrists. Between the perry and the doctor's sociability and Monk's merits, her eyes had begun to sparkle. "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Picker. I have come here to ask you a question, _and you must answer me_. But you have nothing to fear on your own score, provided you tell me the truth honestly. Young men will do foolish things, however industrious they may be. Why did Monk play that prank on Easter Monday?" The sparkle in the eyes faded with fright. She would have got away, but could not, and so put on an air of wonder. "On Easter Monday! What were it he did on Easter Monday?" "When he put himself and his face into white, and went to the churchyard by moonlight to represent the dead, you know, Mrs. Picker." She gave a shrill scream, got one of her hands loose and flung it up to her face. "Come, Goody, you had better answer me quietly than be taken to confess before Squire Todhetley. I dare say you were not to blame." Afore Squire Todhetley! O-o-o-o-o-h! Did they know it at the Manor? "Well," said Mr. Duffham, "you see I know it, and I have come straight from there. Now then, my good woman, I have not much time." Goody Picker's will was good to hold out longer, but she surrendered à coup de main, as so many of us have to do when superior power is brought to bear. Monk overheered it, was the substance of her answer. On coming in from work that there same blessed evening--and look at him now! at his work on a Easter Monday till past dark!--he overheered the two servants, Molly and Hannah, talking of what they was going out to watch for--the shadows in the churchyard. He let 'em go, never showing hisself till they'd left the house. Then he got the sheets from his bed, and put the flour on his face, and went on there to frighten 'em; all in fun. He never thought of hurting the women; he never knowed as the young girl, Phoebe, was to be there. Nobody could be more sorry for it nor he was; but he'd never meant to do harm more nor a babby unborn. Mr. Duffham released the hands. Looking back in reflection, he had little doubt it was as she said--that Monk had done it out of pure sport, not intending ill. "He might have confessed: it would have been more honest. And you! why did you deny that it was Monk?"