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"'I hope they won't get among my quail,' I says, an' Scraff he turned round an' looked at me mighty hard, but he didn't say nuthin'. He went away, grumblin', an' carryin' six of Dad's traps. Course I knowed he couldn't catch a weasel in a trap in twenty years an' he didn't catch any either. Ma weasel killed some more of his Leghorns, an' then Scraff he comes to me. 'Billy,' he says, 'is there any way to get rid of weasels?' 'Sure there's a way,' I says, 'but not everybody knows it.', Anson started to whimper. "I do have bad dreams," he confessed miserably, "but pie an' tarts ain't to blame fer it.", "Oh," she cried miserably, "what haven't you done, Tom Wilson? Didn't you bring me here to this lonesome spot when I was happy with my son, happy an' contented?".