“Come, come,” he continued, “you're not going to ride rough shod over me as you did over Cousin Bill. I don't care a snap of the finger, I can tell you, for all your puffed cheeks and big bellied speeches. I don't, I tell you!” and suiting the action to the word, the sturdy fellow snapped his fingers almost under the nose of his uncle, which was now erected heavenward, with a more scornful pre-eminence than ever. The sudden entrance of Mrs. Hinkley, from her search after Stevens's pistols, prevented any rough issue between these new parties, as it seemed to tell in favor of Stevens. There were no pistols to be found. The old lady did not add, indeed, that there was nothing of any kind to be found belonging to the same worthy.
“There! That's enough!” said old Hinkley.
“Did you find anything of Stevens's, Mrs. Hinkley?” inquired Mr. Calvert.
“Nothing, whatever.”
“Well, madam,” said Calvert, “your search, if it proves anything, proves the story of Ned Hinkley conclusively. This man has carried off all his chattels.”
John Cross looked down from heaven, and stared inquiringly at Mrs. Hinkley.
“Is this true? Have you found nothing, Sister Betsy?”
“Nothing.”
“And Brother Stevens has not come back?”
“No!”