“Howsomever, Myry’s allus been quite a nagger—quite a nagger at usyal times,” observed Uncle Buck, with mild reproof. “She prob’ly realises now, when her eyes is open by her trouble, that a man can’t be hectored only about so fur.”
Several men in the kitchen looked at their wives with significance in their gaze.
A woman was beginning a dissertation on her views of the marriage situation when there came a beating of wet feet on the stoop without, and a man trudged in, soggy and dripping. The blast threw a fistful of water at his back as he slammed the door behind him.
“They’ve got Klebe,” he announced briefly, standing close to the stove. “How’s the woman?”
“’Tain’t the outside of her head now—it’s the inside of her heart that’s ailin’,” said Mrs. Tolman. “She wants her childern and her husband, spite of what he’s done to her.”
“They caught him up in the Bunganuck woods,” explained the man, replying to rapid questions. “Purday took him and done a good job at it. And the whole pack and possy of ’em was draggleder’n wet mushrats. They’re dryin’ Klebe off down in the s’lectmen’s office now, and I reckon they’ll keep him here to-night and take him to jail ter-morrer.”
“Has he been told about the children?”
“Yas, had to tell him. He’s been fightin’ like a cattymaran ever since he was took, and Purday got tuckered out and told him so’s to break his sperit. And it done it quick, now, I can tell ye!”
“Northin’ from outside?” The question was put with a glance seaward and a mournful inflection of the voice, as though with certainty of the worst.
“Northin’.” The reply was equally mournful.