Mrs. Coonie went up to Lanky, with her double fists on her hips, her face the colour of a red brick, and opened fire.
"You viper! you toad! you snake! What have you got to say for yourself? To think that I should swallow your story as easy as you swallowed the brandy. I'll horsewhip you, you hound!"
She was about to seize the whip from Coonie's hand to carry her threat into execution, when old McKeel stepped forward, and said,—
"You dodrotted heepocrite, that I snatched frae the jaws o' death! To think ye should be sa near ye'r end, an' tell a pack o' lees—red-hot lees, I may say! Won'ner they didna burn ye'r tongue. You'll be ca'in on Lazarus to dip the tip o' his finger yet to cool it. You seasoned leear! I tell ye tae ye'r face that Ananias was struck deed for a hantle less than ye hae done. An' tae think that my ammonia should be slopped like a cup o' tea ower my carpet, insteed o' savin' the lives o' them that's mair deservin'. Blast ye! Tak' that!"
He struck Lanky with a heavy stock-whip, which made him jump.
"It's a pack of lies!" he roared, turned round, and fled.
Max Hicsh came up at this moment, and took in the situation at once. He, David, and Alec laughed like to split their sides. Old McKeel was livid with rage. Coonie was in his buggy, as stolid as a native bear, trying to light his pipe. His wife turned to him, having no other vent for her anger.
"You old fool! is this a time to smoke like a chimney, when you ought to be down on your knees asking all our pardons for nearly leading Annie into a terrible scrape?"
"My word!" was all Coonie said, as he thrust pipe and tobacco into his pocket.
"I'll send a pound to old Mrs. Wilber by to-day's post," said David.