“Currant wine, preserves and sardines!” sputtered Teddy.
“Yes, to Mr. York; and got turned out of doors,” added Becky.
“Currant wine! Heavens and airth!” screamed Aunt Hulda, jumping up and darting into the kitchen with an activity she seldom displayed.
She flew to the cupboard, gave one look, uttered a dismal groan, and darted back to the sitting-room.
“You hateful young one, you’ve stolen my things! What do you mean?” she cried, seizing Becky by the shoulder, and shaking her. “Is that the way you rob a poor, afflicted creeter? What have you done with them? Where are they?”
“Don’t care where they are! Wish they were at the bottom of the river! Quit shaking me!”
“Guess they’re safe, Aunt Hulda,” said Teddy, with a grin. “Cap’n Thompson’s got ’em.”
“Cap’n Thompson!” gasped Aunt Hulda, staring at Teddy. In his hands she felt they were indeed safe. It was too much. She dropped Becky, tottered to the sofa, and added a fit of hysterics to the catalogue of her numerous ailments.