“I sp’ose now, mebbe, Mr. Barron, you know more about the woods critters’n what I do?” she inquired, hopefully but doubtfully.
The woodsman lifted his eyebrows in some surprise at the question.
“Well, now, if I don’t I’d oughter,” said he, “seein’ as how I’ve kinder lived round amongst ’em all my life. If I know anything, it’s the backwoods an’ all what pertains to that same!” 222
“Yes, you’d oughter know more about them than I do!” assented Mrs. Gammit, with a touch of severity which seemed to add “and see that you do!” Then she shut her mouth firmly and fell to fanning herself again, her thoughts apparently far away.
“I hope ’tain’t no serious trouble ye’re in!” ventured her host presently, with the amiable intention of helping her to deliver her soul of its burden.
But, manlike, he struck the wrong note.
“Do you suppose,” snapped Mrs. Gammit, “I’d be traipsin’ over here nine mile thro’ the hot woods to ax yer advice, Mr. Barron, if ’twarn’t serious?” And she began to regret that she had come. Men never did understand anything, anyway.
At this sudden acerbity the woodsman stroked his chin with his hand, to hide the ghost of a smile which flickered over his lean mouth.
“Jest like a woman, to git riled over nawthin’!” he thought. “Sounds kinder nice an’ homey, too!” But aloud, being always patient with the sex, he said coaxingly––
“Then it’s right proud I am that ye should come to me about it, Mrs. Gammit. I reckon I kin help you out, mebbe. What’s wrong?”