"Yes, missus, it was," he said, shamefacedly, "'twas Polly Jones,—she that you discharged for impudence. She said that she'd get even with you, and if I'd take your watch and chain and diamond ring, and some of your silver, that we'd go to Boston, and she'd—she'd—"
"Well," said grandmother, tranquilly, "she would do what?"
"She said she'd marry me," sheepishly whispered the old man, hanging his head.
"Marry you indeed, old simpleton!" said my grandmother, dryly. "She'd get you to Boston, fleece you well, and that's the last you'd see of her. Where is Miss Polly?"
"In—in the stable," whimpered the old man.
"H'm," said grandmother, "waiting for the plunder, eh? Well, make haste. My purse is in the upper drawer, my watch you see before you; here is my diamond ring, and my spoons you have in your pocket."
Old George began to cry, and counted every spoon he had in his pocket out on the bureau before him, saying one, two, three, four, and so on, through his tears.
"Stop!" said my grandmother. "Put them back."
The old man looked at her in astonishment. She made him return every spoon to his pocket. Then she ordered him to hang the watch round his neck, put the ring on his finger, and the purse in his pocket.
"Take them out to the stable," she said, sternly; "sit and look at them for the rest of the night. If you want to keep them by eight o'clock in the morning, do so,—if not, bring them to me. And as for Miss Polly, send her home the instant you set foot outside there, and tell her from me that if she doesn't come to see me to-morrow afternoon she may expect to have the town's officers after her as an accomplice in a burglary. Now be off, or that crow will alarm the household. Not by the door, old George, that's the way honest people go out. Oh, George, George, that a carrion crow should be more faithful to me than you!"