"Oh, 'tain't none o' them!" said Mrs. Gammit, in a tone which conveyed a poor opinion of her host's sagacity and woodcraft. "I've suspicioned the weasels, an' the foxes, an' the woodchucks, but hain't found a sign o' any one of 'em round the place. An' _as_ fer _skunks_--well, I reckon, I've got a nose on my face." And to emphasize the fact, she sniffed scornfully.
"To be sure! An' a fine, handsome nose it is, Mrs. Gammit!" replied the woodsman, diplomatically. "But what you _don't_ appear to know about skunks is that when they're up to mischief is jest the time when you don't smell 'em. Ye got to bear that in mind!"
Mrs. Gammit looked at him with suspicion.
"Be that reelly so?" demanded she, sternly.
"True's gospel!" answered Barron. "A skunk ain't got no smell unless he's a mind to."
"Well," said she, "I guess it ain't no skunk, anyhow. I kind o' feel it in my bones 'tain't no skunk, smell or no smell."
The woodsman looked puzzled. He had not imagined her capable of such unreasoning obstinacy. He began to wonder if he had overrated her intelligence.
"Then I give it up, Mrs. Gammit," said he, with an air of having lost all interest in the problem.
But that did not suit his visitor at all. Her manner became more conciliatory. Leaning forward, with an almost coaxing look on her face, she murmured--
"I've had an _idee_ as how it _might_ be--mind, I don't say it is, but jest it _might_ be----" and she paused dramatically.
"Might be what?" inquired Barron, with reviving interest.
"Porkypines!" propounded Mrs. Gammit, with a sudden smile of triumph.
Joe Barron neither spoke nor smiled. But in his silence there was something that made Mrs. Gammit uneasy.
"Why _not_ porkypines?" she demanded, her face once more growing severe.
"It _might_ be porkypines as took them aigs o' yourn, Mrs. Gammit, an' it _might be bumbly-bees_!" responded Barron. "But 'tain't likely!"
"Mebbe," she sneered, "ye kin tell me _why_ it's so impossible it could be porkypines. I seen a big porkypine back o' the barn, only yestiddy. An' that's more'n kin be said o' yer weasels, an' foxes, an' skunks, what ye're so sure about, Mr. Barron."
"A porkypine ain't necess_ar_ily after aigs jest because he's back of a barn," said the woodsman. "An' anyways, a porkypine don't eat aigs. He hain't got the right kind o' teeth fer them kind o' vittles. He's _got_ to have something he kin gnaw on, somethin' substantial an' solid--the which he prefers a young branch o' good tough spruce, though it _do_ make his meat kinder strong. No, Mrs. Gammit, it ain't no porkypine what's stealin' yer aigs, take my word fer it. An' the more I think o' it the surer I be that it's a weasel. When a weasel learns to suck aigs, he gits powerful cute. Ye'll have to be right smart, I'm telling ye, to trap him."