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"Here you be, fer a fact," said David. "Wa'al, the's worse places 'n Homeville after you git used to it," he added in qualification.
Allen's attention to herself to avoid the betrayal of their plans which would certainly follow Rebecca's joining the conversation. "Mis' Allen," she exclaimed, excitedly, "the's just one thing to be done. Won't you run's quick's ever you can to Si Pray, an' ask him to bring his gun? You won't meet the burglar 'cause he's gone the other way. Rebecca 'nd I'll jest wait here for you an' Si.
Th' Maid o' th' North is sheathed fer ice, an' we could freeze her in, some place down th' coast, an' be on hand t' sail when th' ice clears in th' spring, We could let th' folks know where we were t' freeze up, an' we'd pick up a lot o' fur before th' ice breaks, an' th' natives'd hold th' rest until we calls comin' south. The's a big chanct there," said the mate, conclusively.
'That's what it is, I says. 'Two hunderd, cash down." "Didn't ye dast to trust the deakin?" asked Mrs. Bixbee. "Polly," said David, "the's a number of holes in a ten-foot ladder." Mrs. Bixbee seemed to understand this rather ambiguous rejoinder. "He must 'a' squirmed some," she remarked. David laughed.
"Douglas goes for Richard, an' when Richard comes he says th' clothes's Bob's an' th' gun ain't, an' Bob were havin' only one axe. "Richard's not doubtin' th' remains was Bob's though, an' o' course the's no doubtin' that. Th' clothes's gettin' so stained up I'm thinkin' th' mother'd not be knowin' un. But Richard sure would be knowin' th' gun, an' that's what I'm wonderin' at."
There was no further conversation until long afterward, when Rebecca suddenly remarked: "Aren't ye hungry, Phoebe?" "Why, it's gettin' along to dinner-time, ain't it?" she replied. "I don't see, though, how I'm to get any victuals, do you?" "Why, the's bread an' other scraps slammed up against the wall here all round me," said Rebecca. "Couldn't we fix some way to get some of 'em to ye?"
Don't be worryin' about th' lad. He's as safe as you be. He'll be comin' home as fine an' hearty as ever you see him, an' with a fine hunt." "I knows the's no call for th' worry," she answered, "but someways I has a forebodin' o' somethin' evil t' happen an' I can't shake un off. I can't tell what an be. Mayhap 'tis th' maid.
The's a lot o' fine recipes in there I never could make my sweet pickle as good as thet recipe in the New York paper thet Molly sent me." Phoebe laid down her book and walked over to her sister's side. "Oh, the' must be some part of it you can use, Rebecca," she said. "Land sakes!" she continued, laughing. "Why, it's the whole of the New York World for a Sunday pictures an' all!
"It can be told, suh, in three," said the Southerner. His smile had returned. His voice was the cool voice of one who discussed abstract things. "I'm a failyuh. This wold 'ain't no use foh failyuhs. I've given myself all the time and chances I dese'ved, but I cayn't win out, so I've got to git out. The's no one to ca'e. I've no kin, no ons dependin' on me in any way.
"What I was going to say," he resumed, rolling down the collar of his coat, "was, that when my wife helped me bundle up t'night, she said I was gitt'n' t' be an old granny. We are agin', Judge, the's no denyin' that. We're both gray as Norway rats now. An' speaking of us agin' reminds me, have y' noticed how bald the old Kyernel's gitt'n'?" "I have, Amos," answered the Judge, mournfully.
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