“I can’t help it, can I?” asked George.
“I never slept a wink t’other night,” continued Mr. Stebbins, “’cause they was in my barn, an’ I was expectin’ every minute that they would break into my house an’ rob me. I don’t want them to come foolin’ round here no more. You hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you. They will be up here again next Friday night, and I will tell them what you say.”
“Wal, they shan’t sleep in my barn ag’in, if they do come up here, ’cause I’m afeared of ’em. Why don’t they stay to home, where they belong? They’ve got no ’arthly business up here. An’ I tell you another thing I don’t like,” went on Mr. Stebbins, flourishing his whip over his head. “Be you livin’ over there on t’other side of the lake?”
The boy replied that he was.
“I thought so, ’cause I seed a smoke comin’ out of the chimbly. Now I don’t want you nor nobody else over there, an’ I won’t have it, nuther.”
“Is my cabin on your grounds?” questioned George.
“No, it ain’t,” said Mr. Stebbins, emphatically.
“Then you have nothing to say about it. I had permission from the man who owns that land to build my cabin there, and so long as he does not object, you have no right to complain.”
“Hain’t I though?” Mr. Stebbins almost shouted. “Wal, I shall ask the selectmen about that. There’s a poorhouse pervided for them that ain’t able to make an honest livin’ for themselves.”