Vandals entered the six-bedroom lodge and sprayed the interior with fire extinguishers, slathering the floors and walls with dust.

They poured cooking oils, soaps and lemon juice in the living room, halls and kitchen and even on a dining table large enough to seat 20 for dinner, using it as a slip-and-slide.

They threw eggs on the walls and television set. They scribbled obscenities. They stole two hair dryers and two pillows and left the water running.

They might have spent five years behind bars had they been adults convicted on burglary and vandalism charges. As preteens, they might have had to do community service. They would have lived with criminal records the rest of their lives.

But the three girls, who are not identified because they are minors, chose to break into Florida property owned by none other than Truett Cathy, the founder of Atlanta-based Chick-fil-A restaurants.

Cathy was stunned to see the $30,000 in damage to his residence known as Chick-fil-A Lodge in New Smyrna Beach, Fla. But the 87-year-old entrepreneur refused to press charges.

He wanted to punish the girls in his own style —- one that was as unconventional as his business practices.

He didn't want restitution. He didn't want justice. He just wanted to put the girls back on a path of righteousness.

"My heart goes out to young people," Cathy said. "If there is anyone on trial here, it should have been the parents."

Cathy, who started a charitable foundation in 1984 that operates several foster homes for troubled and neglected children, is a firm believer in old-fashioned values.

"If they were my children, I'd put them on my lap and spank them," he said.

He bemoaned what he called the loss of discipline and moral education in today's schools. He blamed broken marriages, especially absent fathers, for children going astray.

He knew the penalty meted out in court would be severe and, perhaps, unwarranted.

"I didn't want the girls arrested," he said. "I think they deserved a break. It was their first time."

He wanted to teach them a lesson instead.

So he contacted the police detective in the case, Nicki Diffin, and asked her to arrange a meeting between him, the girls and their mothers.

Last week, they sat together at police headquarters in New Smyrna Beach and talked about what the girls had done.

Cathy was especially bothered by the foul language such young girls had used.

He asked who had scribbled the obscenities.

"I don't know," came the reply from the girl who appeared to be the ringleader.

"I want you to know that I'm your friend," Cathy told her. "I'm doing the best thing I can for you, but you have to be honest."

The girl finally admitted she was responsible.

"How did you learn that language?" Cathy asked her.

She told him she picked it up from her older sister and a father who did not live with her.

Then he issued his mandate:

> You must write 1,000 times: "I will not vandalize other people's property."

> You must read a good book for three hours a day and then send me a book report every week for 13 weeks.

> You cannot watch television or play video games for six months.

It came as a surprise to the girls, their mothers and even to the police officers. But it was straight out of Cathy's playbook.

He built his fast-food empire on principles borrowed from the Bible: Treat your customers as you treat yourself. A good name is better than great riches.

He decided years ago that Chick-fil-A would never go public and that he would never open for business on Sundays.

In matters of crime, he chose again to follow his heart.

Now, he's waiting to read the first book report.