"You better jest take them matches and put 'em out o' the way, fust thing, 'fore ye forgit it. Matches are dangerous to have layin' around, and I never feel safe till they're safe."
And Mr. Ducklow hung up his hat, and laid his overcoat across a chair in the next room, with a carefulness and deliberation exhausting to the patience of good Mrs. Ducklow, and no less trying to that of Master Taddy, who was waiting to hear the important question answered.
"Come!" said she, after hastily disposing of the matches, "what's the use of keeping me in suspense? Did ye buy?"
"Where did ye put 'em?" asked Mr. Ducklow, taking down the bootjack.
"In the little tin pail, where we always keep 'em, of course! Where should I put 'em?"
"You needn't be cross! I asked, 'cause I didn't hear ye put the cover on. I don't believe ye did put the cover on, either; and I sha'n't be easy till ye do."
Mrs. Ducklow returned to the pantry; and her husband, pausing a moment, leaning over a chair, heard the cover go on the tin pail with a click and a clatter which betrayed, that, if ever there was an angry and impatient cover, that was.
"Anybody been here to-day?" Mr. Ducklow inquired, pressing the heel of his right boot in the jack, and steadying the toe under a round of the chair.
"No!" replied Mrs. Ducklow.
"Ye been anywhere?"