“How did I make it, then?” asked George, who was utterly bewildered.
“How can I tell? I don’t know where all that nice butter an’ them fine chickens an’ silk goods went to. True, that’s jest what folks say about you,” continued Uncle Ruben, who saw that George was almost overwhelmed by the hints he had thrown out, “an’ they’ll keep on sayin’ it as long as you live up here in this wild Injun fashion. Your Aunt Polly Ann, who sets a heap of store by you, has been to the trouble of fixin’ up a nice bedroom for you, an’ I promised her, sure, that I’d bring you home with me.”
“Well, when you see her again, tell her that the reason that you didn’t keep your promise was because I wouldn’t go home with you,” said George.
“You won’t? You’d better. Jest see how people are talkin’ about you.”
“Let them talk until they get tired, and then, perhaps they will stop. I’ll not go,” declared George, shortly.
“But you must. I’ve set my heart on it, an’ so has your Aunt Polly Ann.”
“I can’t help that.”
“The constable might come up here an’ arrest you for a thief.”
“I know he might, but he won’t. At any rate, I’ll take the risk. Now, Uncle Ruben, you might as well understand, first as last, that you can’t scare me into going home with you. Let me shove the boat out, please. There is a storm coming up, and I want to go out on the lake and catch some fish for supper before it gets here.”
“Well, George,” said Uncle Ruben, as he arose to his feet, “I have tried to do my duty by you. I have offered you a good home, an’ give you fair warnin’ of what will be sartin to happen to you if you hold to your fool notion of livin’ up here all alone by yourself. Folks will think there’s something wrong somewhere.”