d. The sticks
fell all about him; but Mrs. Gammit, in the excitement of her
triumph, was now forgetting herself so far as to take aim, therefore
never a missile touched him. And presently, without haste, he
disappeared behind the barn.

With something almost like admiration Mrs. Gammit eyed his departure.

"Well, seein' as I hain't scairt ye _much_," she muttered dryly,
"mebbe ye'll obleege me by coming back an' gittin' into my trap. But
ye ain't agoin' to hev no more o' my good herrin'-tub, ye ain't." And
she strode down the yard to get the tub. It was no longer a good tub,
for the porcupines had gnawed two big holes in the sides, and Mrs.
Gammit's own missiles had broken in the bottom. But she obstinately
bore the poor relics into the kitchen. Firewood they might become, but
not food for the enemy.

No more that night was the good woman's sleep disturbed, and she slept
later than usual. As she was getting up, conscience-stricken at the
sound of the cows in the pasture lowing to be milked, she heard a
squawking and fluttering under the barn, and rushed out half dressed
to see what was the matter. She had no doubt that one of the audacious
porcupines had got himself into a trap.

But no, it was neither porcupine, fox, nor weasel. To her consternation,
it was her old red top-knot hen, which now lay flat upon the trap,
with outstretched wings, exhausted by its convulsive floppings. She
picked it up, loosed the deadly grip upon its leg, and slammed the
offending trap across the barn with such violence that it bounced up
and fell into the swill-barrel. Her feelings thus a little relieved,
she examined Red Top-knot's leg with care. It was hopelessly shattered
and mangled.

"Ye cain't never scratch with _that_ ag'in, ye cain't!" muttered Mrs.
Gammit, compassionately. "Poor dear, ther ain't nawthin' fer it but to
make vittles of ye now! Too bad! Too bad! Ye was always sech a fine
layer an' a right smart setter!" And carrying the victim to the block
on which she was wont to split kindling wood, she gently but firmly
chopped her head off.

Half an hour later, as Mrs. Gammit returned from the pasture with a
brimming pail of milk, again she heard a commotion under the barn. But
she would not hurry, lest she should spill the milk. "Whatever it be,
it'll be there when I git there!" she muttered philosophically; and
kept on to the cool cellar with her milk. But as soon as she had
deposited the pail she turned and fairly ran i