Tom dropped the birds and endeavoured to wriggle out of his captor’s clutch.
“Lemme go,” he whined; “I ain’t done nothink to you.”
“Ain’t you,” cried the enraged farmer; “ain’t done nothink, eh?”
“No,” replied Tom, endeavouring to kick the captor’s shins. “I wuz just comin’ up to the house to ask you about somethink.”
“An’ you thought you’d wring a couple of my fowls’ necks an’ bring ’em with ye, to make you welcome.”
“I never wrung ’em,” replied the Pirate Captain.
“Well, I’m struck!” exclaimed the farmer; “after I ketched ye with a fowl in each hand.”
“I heard a noise in the fowlhouse,” said Tom, speciously, “jist as I wuz comin’ along. I knowed it wuz a native cat after the fowls. So I went in——”
“An’ you found the cat ’ad killed two of ’em,” interrupted the farmer.
“An’ you thought you’d bring ’em along an’ show ’em to me.”
“So you picked ’em up, an’ wuz goin’ out when I stopped yer?”
“Yes, I wuz goin’ straight up to your house with ’em.”
“Maria!” cried the farmer, loudly; “fetch a lantern; I’ve ketched somethink!”
“What have you ketched, Jacob?” called back a woman’s voice from the kitchen of the farmhouse; “a tiger cat?”
“No!” hollered the farmer; “I’ve ketched the infernallest liar thet ever wuz on the Clarence River! I doubt if there’s sich another infernal liar in the world.”
The farmer’s wife, shading a candle with her hand, peered out into the dark.
“Where is it?” asked the woman, who was hard of hearing.
“It’s here! You needn’t be frightened, Maria; he can’t get away.”
“What is it, Jacob?” asked Maria, bringing the light carefully.
“I dunno rightly,” replied Jacob, “what breed it is; but I kin see it’s death on fowls.”
“Two. One of ’em’s your best Spanish rooster!”
“Why didn’t you shoot the thing?” asked Maria.
“Fetch the light an’ I’ll show you,” cried Jacob, who was pleased with his catch. “This is where our laying hens an’ pullets has been goin’ lately.”
“Why,” exclaimed the woman, “it’s a man! No, it’s a boy!”
“Yes,” agreed the farmer, screwing Tom round to the light; “it’s a boy all right.”
“Ow!” yelled Tom. “Leggo, yer ’urtin’ me.”
“I’ll ’urt ye a dashed sight more afore I’m done with ye,” observed the farmer; “ye thievin’ young varmint.”
“I ain’t,” whined the chief pirate; “I ain’t a thief!”
