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Updated: June 27, 2025
She comes to me one day, more than six year ago, an' says, 'Mike, says she, 'why don't you marry Phoebe Moxley? ''Cause I don't want to marry her, nor nobody else, says I. 'But you ought to, said she, 'for she's a good woman an' a nice washer an' ironer, an' you'd do well together. 'Don't want no washin' nor ironin', nor no Phoebe, neither, says I. But she didn't mind nothin' what I said, an' goes an' tells everybody that me an' Phoebe was goin' to be married; an' then it was we did git married, jest to stop people talkin' so much about it, an' now look at us.
His gratuities were 'Damn your eyes, you fat bottle-washer, being his name for butler. /My/ eyes, mind you, Ann, not Alfred's or William's, and that because he had tumbled over his own rugs. Gentleman! Why, I name him a hog with his litter." "Hogs don't have litters, Mr. Moxley," observed Ann smartly. "Well, young woman, if there weren't no hogs, there'd be no litters, so there!
It may be imagined with what anxiety Ned had been watching this little scene through the crevice. "The time has come," he whispered to his companions. "Moxley won't wake in a hurry now. But to make sure, suppose you mount guard there, Randy." "What are you going to do?" asked Randy, as he crouched down on the floor. "Break the door open?" "Not much. I'll show you in a moment."
Suddenly there was a sound of a heavy fall, followed by a volley of profanity, and the next instant something flew against the wall, and was shivered to fragments that fell with a tinkling noise. "He's tipped over a bottle," thought Bug, "and now he's smashed it because he's mad. That's like Moxley." This haphazard guess was absolutely correct.
Crowding close to the crevice which extended upward the length of the door they peered eagerly into the room. Moxley had not returned empty handed. He had employed his brief absence in rifling the canoes, and was laden with their entire contents, excepting the dishes and the fishing rods. He deposited his burden on the sawdust and sat down beside it.
See that you don't keep anything back." It was hard to submit to this audacious robbery, but there was no alternative. Moxley had the gun in his hands. The boys deposited all they had about them on the log watches, money, keys, fishing tackle, and handkerchiefs.
All was silent for a second or two after the glass had fallen; then Moxley grumbled in an audible tone: "Confound the luck! I hope that wasn't my whisky bottle. It ain't in my pocket." Of such dire import did the question seem to the ruffian that he ventured to strike a match little dreaming what the impulse would cost him.
You can't possibly escape, and your capture is only a question of time. We are well armed, and won't stand any fooling. Come out now and we'll make it as easy for you as possible." There was a brief pause, and then creaking footsteps were heart as Moxley approached the wall. "You can talk all night," he shouted hoarsely, "but it won't do any good.
"I'll tell you where I've been," muttered Bug angrily. "I had a streak of hard luck this morning. After I left your fellows I struck over the hill to the nearest farmhouse, thinkin' Moxley might be prowlin' around for something to eat. I reckon he'd been there before me, because the first thing I knew a big ugly farmer and his hired man had me fast.
I'll bind and gag you, and leave you here alone. And not a bite do you get to eat, either." With this ultimatum Mr. Moxley rose, and bolted the door. Then he sat down on the sawdust, and sorting out some crackers and jerked beef from the provisions began to eat greedily. He was evidently quite satisfied to spend another night at the mill, for the rain was coming down faster than ever.
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