ce.

"No," he faltered, "I never sarched thar."

"Ye'll do it now, though!" his mother declared triumphantly. "I'm afeard
ter send Jacob on sech a yerrand down the bluffs, kase he air so little
he mought fall; but he air big enough ter go 'long an' watch ye go down
ter the Hollow--else ye'll kem back an' say ye hev sarched thar, when
ye ain't been a-nigh the bluff."

There seemed for a moment no escape for Nick. His mother was looking
resolutely at him, and Jacob had gotten up briskly from his seat in the
chimney-corner. He was a small tow-headed boy with big owlish eyes, and
Nick knew from experience that they were very likely to see anything he
did _not_ do. He must go; and then if at any time the stolen goods
should be discovered, Jacob and his mother, and who could say how many
besides, would know that he had been to the Conscripts' Hollow, and must
have seen what was hidden there.

In that case his silence on the subject would be very suspicious. It
would seem as if he had some connection with the burglars, and for that
reason tried to conceal the plunder.

He was saying to himself that he would not go--and he must! How could he
avoid it? As he glanced uneasily around the room, his eyes chanced to
fall on a little object lying on the edge of the shelf just above the
washtub. He made the most of the opportunity. As he slung his hat upon
his head with an impatient gesture, he managed to brush the shelf with
it and knock the small object into the foaming suds below.

His mother sank into a chair with uplifted hands and eyes.

"The las' cake o' hop yeast!" she cried. "An' how air the bread ter be
raised?"

To witness her despair, one would think only jack-screws could do it.

"Surely I _am_ the afflictedest 'oman on G'liath Mounting! An'
ter-morrer Brother Pete's wife an' his gals air a-comin', and I hed laid
off ter hev raised bread."

For "raised bread" is a great rarity and luxury in these parts, the
nimble "dodgers" being the staff of life.

"I never went ter do it," muttered Nick.

"Waal, ye kin jes' kerry yer bones down the mounting ter Sister
Mirandy's house, an' ax her ter fotch me a cake o' her yeast when she
kems up hyar ter-day ter holp me sizin' yarn. Arter that I don't keer
what ye does with yerself. Ef ye stays hyar along o' we-uns, ye'll haul
the roof down nex', I reckon. 'Pears like ter me ez boys an' men-folks
air powerful awk'ard, useless critters ter keep in a house; they oughter
hev p