“There, Mr. Barron,” said she, handing him the three traps, “I’m obleeged to you, an’ there’s yer traps. But there’s one of ’em ain’t no good.”
“Which one be it?” asked the woodsman as he took them.
“I’ve marked it with a bit of string,” replied Mrs. Gammit.
“What’s the matter with it? I don’t see nawthin’ wrong with it!” said Barron, examining it critically.
“Tain’t no good! You take my word fer it! 248 That’s all I’ve got to say!” persisted Mrs. Gammit.
“Oh, well, seem’ as it’s you sez so, Mrs. Gammit, that’s enough,” agreed the woodsman, civilly. “But the other is all right, eh? What did they ketch?”
“Well, they ketched a big weasel!” said Mrs. Gammit, eyeing him with challenge.
A broad smile went over Barron’s face.
“I knowed it,” he exclaimed. “I knowed as how it was a weasel.”
“An’ I knowed as how ye’d say jest them very words,” retorted Mrs. Gammit. “But ye don’t know everythin’, Joe Barron. It wa’n’t no weasel as was takin’ them there aigs!”