swiftly and lightly eastward toward the
lakeside village and their home.

"Ugh! The Sun Maid has found her mate!" muttered the foremost warrior
grimly, and followed with his company at a soberer pace.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE CROOKED LOG.

"I tell you what, Chicago's a-growing. First _we_ come; then Gaspar;
then Kitty and him get married; and I go to keeping tavern in the
parson's house; and his son, One, goes up north to take a place in
Gaspar's business; and Gaspar sends Two and Three east to study law
and medicine; and Four and his pa come to board in our tavern; and
Osceolo----"

"For the land's sake, Abel Smith, do hold your tongue. Here you've got
to be as big a talker as old Deacon Slim, that I used to hear about,
who begun the minute he woke up and never stopped till his wife tied
his mouth shut at night. Even then----"

"Mercy, Mercy! Take care. Set me a good example, if you can; but don't
go to denying that this is a growin' village."

"I've no call to deny it. Why should I? But, say, Abel, just step
round to the store, won't you, an' buy me some of that turkey red
calico was brought in on the last team from the East. I'd admire to
make Kitty a rising sun quilt for her bedroom. 'Twould be so
'propriate, too."

"Fiddlesticks! Not a yard of stuff will I ever buy for you to set an'
snip, snip, like you used to in the woods. We've got something else to
do now. As for Kit, between the Fort folks and the Indians, she's had
so many things give her a'ready, she won't have room to put 'em. The
idee! Them two children gettin' married. Seems just like play make
believe."

"Well, there ain't no make believe. It's the best thing 't ever
happened to Chicago. Wonderful how they both 'pear to love the old
hole in the mud," answered Mercy.

"Yes, ain't it? To hear Gaspar talk, you'd think he'd been to
Congress, let alone bein' President. All about the 'possibilities of
the location,' the 'fertility of the soil,' the 'big canawl,' and the
whole endurin' business; why, I tell you, it badgers my wits to foller
him."

"Wouldn't try, then, if I was you. Poor old wits 'most wore out, any
how, and better save what's left for this tavern business. Between you
and your fiddle, thinkin' you've got to amuse your guests, I'm about
beat out. All the drudgery comes on _me_, same's it always did."

"Drudgery, Mercy? Now, come. Take it easy. Hain't Kitty fetched you a
couple of squaws to do your steps and dish washin'? All