It was like Mrs. Gammit, however, that even in 168 this dark moment her luck should serve her. She landed squarely on the back of the pig. This broke her fall, and, strangely enough, did not break the pig. The latter, quite frenzied by the accumulation of horrors heaped upon him, bounced frantically from beneath her indiscreet petticoats, and dashed himself from one side of the pen to the other with a violence that threatened to wreck both pig and pen.
Somewhat breathless, but proudly conscious that she had won a splendid victory, Mrs. Gammit picked herself up and shook herself together. The bear had vanished. She eyed with amazement the continued gyrations of the pig.
“Poor dear!” she muttered presently, “some o’ the bilin’ water must ’ave slopped on to him! Oh, well, I reckon he’ll git over it bime-by. Anyhow, it’s a sight better’n being all clawed an’ et up by a bear, I reckon!”
Mrs. Gammit now felt satisfied that this particular bear would trouble her no more, and she had high hopes that his experience with hot water would serve as a lesson to all the other bears with whom she imagined herself involved. The sequel fulfilled her utmost expectations. The bear, smarting from his scalds and with all his preconceived ideas about women overthrown, betook himself in haste to another and remoter hunting-ground. A good deal of his hair came off, in patches, and for a 169 long time he had a rather poor opinion of himself.
When, for over a week, there had been no more raids upon barn or chicken-roost, and no more bear-tracks about the garden, Mrs. Gammit knew that her victory had been final, and she felt so elated that she was even able to enjoy her continuing diet of cold turkey. Then, one pleasant morning when a fresh, sweet-smelling wind made tumult in the forest, she took the gun home to Joe Barren.
“What luck did ye hev, Mrs. Gammit?” inquired the woodsman with interest.
“I settled them bears, Mr. Barren!” she replied. “But it wasn’t the gun as done it. It was bilin’ water. I’ve found ye kin always depend on bilin’ water!”
“I hope the gun acted right by you, however!” said the woodsman.
Mrs. Gammit’s voice took on a tone of reserve.
“Well, Mr. Barren, I thank ye kindly for the loan of the weepon. Ye meant right. But it’s on my mind to warn ye. Don’t ye go for to trust that gun, or ye’ll live to regret it. It don’t hit what it’s aimed at.”