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Updated: May 12, 2025
I'll git him to-night, though, I reckon, if I kin have the loan of your gun." "Sartain," assented the woodsman, laying down the breech-strap he was mending. "Did you ever fire a gun?" he inquired suddenly, as he was starting across the yard to fetch the weapon from his cabin. "I can't rightly say I hev'," answered Mrs. Gammit, with a slight note of scorn in her voice.
He came back the next night fully determined that no squeals, or brooms, or flying petticoats, or explosions, should divert him from his purpose and his pork. He came early; but not, as it chanced, too early for Mrs. Gammit, who seemed somehow to have divined his plans and so taken time by the forelock.
Gammit tried to jump backwards. But instead of that, she fell flat on her back, with a yell. Her sturdy heels flew up in the air, while her petticoats flopped back in her face, bewildering her. The weasel, however, had maintained his dogged grip upon the toe of her shoe; so something had to give. That something was the cord which anchored the trap. It broke under the sudden strain.
The other, unvanquished but indignant, withdrew slowly, with every quill on end. The sticks fell all about him; but Mrs. Gammit, in the excitement of her triumph, was now forgetting herself so far as to take aim, therefore never a missile touched him. And presently, without haste, he disappeared behind the barn. With something almost like admiration Mrs. Gammit eyed his departure.
Gammit had taken calmly enough, declaring it to be nothing more than a good riddance to bad rubbish. It was not until the return of moonlight nights that the bear had discovered the white pig, and thus come face to face, at last, with a thoroughly aroused Mrs. Gammit.
Gammit began to think, even to fear, that her impetuosity of the night before had frightened him away. At last her reveries grew confused. She sat up very straight, and blinked very hard, to make sure that she was quite awake.
The cat, coiled in the sun on a log outside, sprang up angrily, glared with green eyes at the offending window, and scurried away to cleanse her defiled coat. "Them's not my poultry!" said Mrs. Gammit with decision. "I thought o' that, too. An' I watched 'em on the sly. But they hain't a one of 'em got no sech onnateral tricks.
Neither did anything come to disturb the hens, who attended so well to business that at noon Mrs. Gammit had seven fresh eggs to carry in. When night came, and neither weasels nor porcupines had given any further sign of their existence, Mrs. Gammit was puzzled. She was one of those impetuous women who expect everything to happen all at once.
The pen of the white pig, as we have already noted, was in a corner of the barn, and under one end of the loft. Immediately above the point where the bear would have to climb over, in order to get into the pen, Mrs. Gammit removed several of the loose boards which formed the flooring of the loft.
An' they've et up the white top-knot hen, with the whole settin' of eggs, that was to hev' hatched out next Monday. An' they've took the duck. An' last night they come after the pig." "They didn't git him, did they?" inquired Joe Barron sympathetically. "No, siree!" responded Mrs. Gammit with decision. "An' they ain't agoin' to!
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