"I haven't said a word," she whispered, so low that she could hardly be described as saying a word then, "because I did not want to frighten you, Charlotte, but Dundee has been growling fearfully for the past two nights. I don't see how you could have helped hearing him—though to be sure he has slept under my bed, with my door shut! He is out in the yard now, growling and crawling up towards the back door. I am certain that I saw a figure skulking along by the fence. Here is a revolver; I brought it up in case of need, but I can't let any one touch it. Where's Bob?"
"He's out in the barn looking after Don Dolor," said Mrs. Scollard. "I'm not at all frightened, Miss Keren. I'm sure there's nothing wrong. Suppose you stay here with the revolver, and let Happie go out in the kitchen to see if Rosie's there."
"You never can tell how nervous people are going to be nervous!" exclaimed Miss Bradbury, as if she were disappointed by Mrs. Scollard's calmness, even while dreading to disturb her. "Very well; creep out, Happie, but go carefully!"
Happie laughed, and obediently departed. She heard low voices as she neared the kitchen, and she opened the door to discover Rosie's Mahlon standing there on one leg, "like the goose he is," Happie thought, not feeling in the mood to be amused by Rosie's decidedly not better half.
"Have you been around here nights lately?" asked Happie.
"Pretty much all summer," whined Mahlon. "Rosie didn't know it—she wouldn't have cared, no sir, not if she did know it. She hasn't any heart in her, and then you folks got a dog!"
Happie's laugh rang out, and she hurried back to the library. "Put away your revolver, Aunt Keren; it's only Rosie's Mahlon, and the most you would need for him would be a wringing machine—he's very tearful!"
Then she rushed back to see the fun.
"Now you keep still!" she heard Rosie say in a fierce whisper as she entered. But it was much too hard a matter to Mahlon to get started talking for him to be easily silenced. He swung his right arm, and swung his right leg in unison with it. His voice arose into a tearful whine; he seemed to be on the point of breaking into tears, as he often did when excited.
"No, sir," he piped, "I couldn't do it! Nobody couldn't do it. He told me to go up once on the barn loft, on that there cracked ladder and throw down the old straw. And I told him I couldn't, and I wasn't goin' to break my neck, not for him nor nobody like him, and me with a wife dependent on me yet!"