"Go to that mare, and don't you leave her again till I come, or I'll
_marble_ ye in a way you won't like."

Understanding, by this somewhat equivocal form of expression, that
flagellation was threatened, Taddy obeyed, still feeling his smarting
and burning ear.

Ducklow was in trouble. What should he do with the bonds? The floor was
no place for them after what had happened; and he remembered too well
the experience of yesterday to think for a moment of carrying them about
his person. With unreasonable impatience, his mind reverted to Mrs.
Ducklow.

"Why ain't she to home? These women are forever a-gaddin'! I wish
Reuben's trunk was in Jericho!"

Thinking of the trunk reminded him of one in the garret, filled with old
papers of all sorts,--newspapers, letters, bills of sale, children's
writing-books,--accumulations of the past quarter of a century. Neither
fire nor burglar nor ransacking youngster had ever molested those
ancient records during all those five-and-twenty years. A bright thought
struck him.

"I'll slip the bonds down into that worthless heap o' rubbish, where no
one 'ull ever think o' lookin' for 'em, and resk 'em."

Having assured himself that Taddy was standing by the wagon, he paid a
hasty visit to the trunk in the garret, and concealed the envelope,
still bound in its band of tape, among the papers. He then drove away,