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Updated: May 12, 2025
Trap and weasel together went flying over Mrs. Gammit's prostrate head. They brought up with a stupefying slam against the wall of the pig-pen, making the pig squeal apprehensively. Disconcerted and mortified, Mrs. Gammit scrambled to her feet, shook her petticoats into shape, and glanced about to see if the wilderness in general had observed her indiscretion. Apparently, nothing had noticed it.
Gammit seated herself on the end of the bench, just inside the kitchen door, twitched off her limp, pink cotton sunbonnet, and wiped her flushed face with the sleeve of her calico waist. Quite unsubdued by the heat and moisture of the noonday sun, under which she had tramped nine miles through the forest, her short, stiff, grey hair stood up in irregular tufts above her weather-beaten forehead.
Gammit, at this time of year, when he's fat on blueberries, he'll make right prime pork himself, ef he ain't too old and rank." As Mrs. Gammit strode homeward through the hot, silent woods with the gun still carrying it as if it were a broom she had no misgivings as to her fitness to confront and master the most redoubtable of all the forest kindreds.
There's holes, I reckon, under the back an' sides o' the shed, or barn, or wherever it is that the hens have their nests?" "Nat'rally!" responded Mrs. Gammit. "The thieves ain't agoin' to come in by the front doors, right under my nose, be they?" "Of course," assented the woodsman. "Well, you jest set them 'ere traps in three o' them holes, well under the sills an' out o' the way.
"Sounds kinder nice an' homey, too!" But aloud, being always patient with the sex, he said coaxingly "Then it's right proud I am that ye should come to me about it, Mrs. Gammit. I reckon I kin help you out, mebbe. What's wrong?" With a burst of relief Mrs. Gammit declared her sorrow. "It's the aigs," said she, passionately.
Instantly his valiant quills went down quite flat; and as he wriggled to his feet with a squeak of alarm, he looked all at once little and lean and dark, like a wet hen. Mrs. Gammit smiled grimly. "Ye ain't feelin' quite so sassy now, be ye?" she muttered; and the sticks flew the faster from her energetic hands.
Don't go fer to bait'em, mind, or Mr. Weasel'll git to suspicionin' somethin', right off. Jest sprinkle bits of straw, an' hayseed, an' sech rubbish over 'em, so it all looks no ways out o' the ordinary. You do this right, Mrs. Gammit; an' first thing ye know ye'll have yer thief. I'll git the traps right now, an' show ye how to set 'em." And as Mrs.
Then he had tried some nocturnal experiments on the garden, sampling the young squashes which were Mrs. Gammit's peculiar pride, and finding them so good that he had thought surely something would happen. Nothing did happen, however, because Mrs. Gammit slept heavily; and her indignation in the morning he had not been privileged to view.
But, fortunately for her, it was held fast by both hind legs in the trap, and fell back impotent. Startled and enraged, Mrs. Gammit kicked at it, where it lay darting and twisting like a snake. Naturally, she missed it; but it did not miss her. With unerring aim it caught the toe of her heavy cowhide shoe, and fixed its teeth in the tough leather. Utterly taken by surprise, Mrs.
Having a clear conscience and a fine appetite, in spite of the potency of her tea Mrs. Gammit slept soundly. Nevertheless, along toward dawn, in that hour when dream and fact confuse themselves, her nightcapped ears became aware of a strange sound in the yard. She snorted impatiently and sat up in bed. Could some beneficent creature of the night be out there sawing wood for her?
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