Now, Aunt Polly was rather pleased with the idea of Sim’s jealousy; but when it took this ferocious form, and she thought of her guests being strung up one by one to a beam in her own barn, the whole thing began to take a form that she did not quite relish.
“Mr. White,” said she, with great dignity, “what do you mean? Can’t I speak to a traveller in my own kitchen, but you must talk of scythes and pitchforks, and halters, too?”
Sim did not answer, but went peering about the kitchen, opening closets and looking under tables, until he landed in the out-room, where his search was continued still more vigilantly. At last he opened the door of Aunt Polly’s bedroom and stepped in. The white valance in front of the bed was in motion; his eyes began to glisten. He had no doubt that the object of his search was there. Daintily lifting the edge of the valance between his thumb and forefinger, he stooped and looked under. It was only to meet the glaring green eyes of Aunt Polly’s cat, who had inadvertently disturbed the valance, and thus led Sim White into a dilemma; for as he dropped the muslin, and was about to rise from his stooping position, Aunt Polly stood before him, towering in wrathful indignation.
“Mr. Simon White, what do you mean?”
“I mean to find out if that eternal scamp is hid away in this ’ere house or not,” answered Sim, looking desperately around the little apartment. “He’s my prisoner. I took him myself at German Flats just afore I come here to live. If them fools in Albany have let him loose, I’ll tighten him up again in short order.”
“Who on ’arth are you talking about?”
“Why, that Butler, to be sure; only let me lay my hands on him, that’s all.”
“Why, Captain Butler went off an hour ago,” said Polly, in accents of deep mortification.
“Which way?”
“I don’t know; he slid off without saying good-bye! I was just saving his supper for you.”