n her eagerness. The
speckled hen was cackling vain-gloriously; and as Mrs. Gammit passed
the row of nests in the shed she saw a white egg shining. But she did
not stop to secure it.

As she entered the barn, a little yellowish brown animal, with a
sharp, triangular nose and savage eyes like drops of fire, ran at her
with such fury that for an instant she drew back. Then, with a roar
of indignation at its audacity, she rushed forward and kicked at it.
The kick struck empty air; but the substantial dimensions of the foot
seemed to daunt the daring little beast, and it slipped away like a
darting flame beneath the sill of the barn. The next moment, as she
stooped to look at the nearest of the two traps, another slim yellow
creature, larger than the first, leaped up, with a vicious cry, and
almost reached her face. But, fortunately for her, it was held fast by
both hind legs in the trap, and fell back impotent.

Startled and enraged, Mrs. Gammit kicked at it, where it lay darting
and twisting like a snake. Naturally, she missed it; but it did not
miss her. With unerring aim it caught the toe of her heavy cowhide
shoe, and fixed its teeth in the tough leather. Utterly taken by
surprise, Mrs. Gammit tried to jump backwards. But instead of that,
she fell flat on her back, with a yell. Her sturdy heels flew up in
the air, while her petticoats flopped back in her face, bewildering
her. The weasel, however, had maintained his dogged grip upon the toe
of her shoe; so something _had_ to give. That something was the cord
which anchored the trap. It broke under the sudden strain. Trap and
weasel together went flying over Mrs. Gammit's prostrate head. They
brought up with a stupefying slam against the wall of the pig-pen,
making the pig squeal apprehensively.

Disconcerted and mortified, Mrs. Gammit scrambled to her feet, shook
her petticoats into shape, and glanced about to see if the wilderness
in general had observed her indiscretion. Apparently, nothing had
noticed it. Then, with an air of relief, she glanced down at her
vicious little antagonist. The weasel lay stunned, apparently dead.
But she was not going to trust appearances. Picking trap and victim up
together, on the end of a pitchfork, she carried them out and dropped
them into the barrel of rain water at the corner of the house.
Half-revived by the shock, the yellow body wriggled for a moment or
two at the bottom of the barrel. As she watched it, a doubt passed
throu