“Then I give it up, Mrs. Gammit,” said he, with an air of having lost all interest in the problem.
But that did not suit his visitor at all. Her manner became more conciliatory. Leaning forward, with an almost coaxing look on her face, she murmured––
“I’ve had an idee as how it might be––mind, I don’t say it is, but jest it might be–––” and she paused dramatically.
“Might be what?” inquired Barron, with reviving interest.
“Porkypines!” propounded Mrs. Gammit, with a sudden smile of triumph.
Joe Barron neither spoke nor smiled. But in his silence there was something that made Mrs. Gammit uneasy.
“Why not porkypines?” she demanded, her face once more growing severe.
“It might be porkypines as took them aigs o’ yourn, Mrs. Gammit, an’ it might be bumbly-bees!” responded Barron. “But ’tain’t likely!”
Mrs. Gammit snorted at the sarcasm.
“Mebbe,” she sneered, “ye kin tell me why 227 it’s so impossible it could be porkypines. I seen a big porkypine back o’ the barn, only yestiddy. An’ that’s more’n kin be said o’ yer weasels, an’ foxes, an’ skunks, what ye’re so sure about, Mr. Barron.”