The girl righted herself and tried to take a step forward. Another Black German hit her squarely on the forehead.
“Yes! Yes!” she cried. “I am trying to steal it! I have got no right to it!”
“Um-huh!” said the little Scour. “Now say you are trying to burn those papers to get rid of all the evidence that would keep you from being the thief you are trying to be! Say it, and say it damn quick!”
“Yes! Yes!” panted the tortured girl. “I’ll say anything! For God’s sake, turn that hose on me. Clear a way through! Quick! Quick, or you will be too late!”
“You will tell the truth about one thing more first,” said the little Scout.
At that minute the boiling hose was beating a hole big enough to have drowned a calf right in the marigold bed. The little Scout danced from one foot to the other, hanging to it with all the strength of a pair of unbelievably tough young arms.
“Tell the truth about little Mary yet! Say you pushed her! I know you did. The Bee Master knew you did, but he couldn’t prove it. I’ll let ’em sting the everlastin’ liver out of you if you don’t tell the truth about that yet!”
The third German got in its work in the tender muscles close to an eye.
“Yes! Yes!” panted the shrinking creature. “Yes! The hose for God’s sake! Turn the hose on me!”
“Drop flat on the ground!” shouted the Scout Master. “Get on your belly and crawl! Crawl like the worm you are! I won’t turn the hose on our bees. Get down,
