"Enough fur dem, too, p'r'aps!" said Aunt Matilda, with a grim chuckle.

The man took no notice of her remark, but said:

"I didn't intend to stop here, but I heard such a barking and screaming
in your cabin, that I turned out of my way to see what the row was
about. I've just come up from the railroad. Does old Michaels keep store
here yet?"

"No, he don't," said Aunt Matilda; "he's dead. Mah'sr Darby keeps dar
now."

"Is that so?" cried the man. "Why, it was on old Michaels's account that
I was sneakin' around the village. Why, I'm mighty glad I stopped here.
It makes things different if old Michaels isn't about."

"Well, ye might as well go 'long," said Aunt Matilda, who seemed to be
getting into a bad humor. "There's others who knows jist as much about
yer bad doin's as Mah'sr Michaels did."

"I suppose you mean that meddling humbug, John Loudon," said the man.

"Now, look h'yar, you George Mason?" cried Aunt Matilda, making one long
step toward the whitewash bucket; "jist you git out o' dat dar door!"
and she seized the whitewash brush and gave it a terrific swash in the
bucket.

The man looked at her--he knew her of old--and then he left the cabin
almost as quickly as Blinks and Holly went out of it.