hain't off'n the head o' some old tame tomcat. An' this air a
painter's "--affecting to scan it by the window--"two ears 'cordin' to
law; yes, sir, two; and this"--his keen old face had all the white light
of the sad gray day on its bleaching hair and its many lines, and his
eager old hands trembled with the excitement of the significant satire
he enacted--"an' this air a wolf's, ye say? Yes; it's a Kittredge's;
same thing, Mr. Cheerman, by a diff'ent name; nuthin' in the code
'bout'n a premium fur a Kittredge's skelp; but same natur'; coward,
bully, thief--_thief!_"

The words in the high cracked voice rang from the bare walls and bare
floors as he tossed the scalps from him, and sat down, laughing silently
in painful, mirthless fashion, his toothless jaw quivering, and his
shaking hands groping for the arms of his chair.

"Who says a Kittredge air a thief says a lie!" cried out the young man,
recovering from his tense surprise. "I don't keer how old he be," he
stipulated--for he had not thought to see her father so aged--"he lies."

The old man fixed him with a steady gaze and a sudden alternation of
calmness. "Ye air a Kittredge; ye stole my daughter from me."

"I never. She kem of her own accord."

"Damn ye!" the old man retorted to the unwelcome truth. There was
nothing else for him to say. "Damn the whole tribe of ye; everything
that goes by the accursed name of Kittredge, that's got a drop o' yer
blood, or a bone o' yer bones, or a puif o' yer breath--"

"Squair! squair!" interposed an officious old colleague, taking him by
the elbow, "jes' quiet down now; ye air a-cussin' yer own gran'son."

"So be! so be!" cried the old man, in a frenzy of rage. "Damn 'em
all--all the Kittredge tribe!" He gasped for breath; his lips still
moved speechlessly as he fell back in his chair.

Kittredge let his gun slip from his shoulder, the butt ringing heavily
as it struck upon the floor. "I ain't a-goin' ter take sech ez that
off'n ye, old man," he cried, pallid with fury, for be it remembered
this grandson was that august institution, a first baby. "He sha'n't sit
up thar an' cuss the baby, Mr. Cheerman." He appealed to the presiding
justice, holding up his right arm as tremulous as old Quimbey's own. "I
want the law! I ain't a-goin' ter tech a old man like him, an' my wife's
father, so I ax in the name o' peace fur the law. Don't deny it"--with a
warning glance--"'kase I ain't school-larned, an' dunno how ter get it.
D