"I don't think they shot any birds," Mrs. Morgan interposed. "If they did, they have concealed them somewhere. But they must have done something, for I never saw them act so before."
"Act how?" inquired Joe.
"Why, as if they were frightened out of their wits. When I looked out of the window and saw them coming, they were running at the top of their speed; and the minute they got into the house, they closed the door and fastened it, and began trying to load their guns. But their hands trembled so violently that they spilled the powder all over the floor; and then they sat down and swayed back and forth in their chairs as if they did not have strength enough to hold themselves still. There was not a particle of color in their faces, and they acted for all the world as if they had taken leave of their senses."
"What ailed them?" asked Joe, who was profoundly astonished.
"I don't know. I couldn't get them to say a word. Whenever I spoke to them they stared at me as if they didn't know what I meant, then shook their heads and went on rocking themselves in their chairs. When they could muster up courage enough to unlock the door and go out, I heard your father say that he had hauled his last load of wood down from the mountain."
"Well, that beats me," said Joe, who did not know what else to say. "But there's one comfort, mother; I shall have two pot-hunters less to watch during the winter."
"Why, Joseph, you are not going back there?" exclaimed Mrs. Morgan, who trembled visibly at the bare thought of the unknown perils to which he might be exposed.
"Of course I am going back," replied Joe, quickly. "Why shouldn't I? There's where I am going to earn the money to keep you from paddling off through the deep snow this winter."
"Oh, Joe, let the money go and stay at home with me," said his mother, pleadingly. "I shall be so uneasy every minute you are away. If anything should happen to you—"