"Gone to Ithacy," replied Tessibel, and without change of expression or color caught the floundering fish in her dirty fingers.
"I air a hittin' the little devil on the head with a stone," said she, and with a pointed rock she expertly tapped the fish three times behind the beady eyes and threw him down again motionless.
"Suppose seein' the fish wrigglin' gives Tessibel mollygrubs in her belly," grinned Jake Brewer, but Ben Letts broke in.
"How be yer toad to-day, Tessibel?"
This he said with a malevolent smile, as he took from his pocket a huge hunk of tobacco and munched a generous mouthful therefrom.
"Pretty well," answered Tess pertly, and measuring the blue water with her eye, she sent a flat stone skipping across it. Then with darkening face she wheeled about upon the heavy squatter.
"But air it any of yer business how my toad air, Ben Letts?"
"Naw," laughed Ben, nudging Jake in the ribs with his bare elbow, "only I thought as how he might be dead." Then he whispered to Brewer, "Wait till I get at him."
"Dead—dead, who said as how he air dead? Ye in't been a rubberin' in his hole, have ye, Ben Letts?"