a farmer, he said:--

"Not a bit! I never was a farmer. I was brought up in the woods on the
frontier among wild animals and Indians. My father was a hunter and
trapper. One day he went out hunting and toward night started to visit
another hunter at his hut in the woods. His friend mistook him in the
twilight and shot him. All my life has been spent in the woods, either
hunting or trading with the French and Indians, or else fighting them."

[Sidenote: A BOWL OF FLIP]

Hepzibah Raymond came in with a bowl of flip--the proper mixture of rum,
malt beer, and brown sugar.

She set it down on the hearth, and her son John, a cripple, who was
seated in the fireplace, drew one of the iron loggerheads out of the
fire, where half a dozen of them were always being heated. He hit it
against the andiron to knock the ashes off, and plunged it into the
mixture. A pleasant smell arose from it; he waited till it foamed up,
and then drew the loggerhead out. Hepzibah passed the bowl to Captain
Rogers.

"Here's to good King George and confusion to his enemies!"

He took a long draught at it, and then the bowl was passed round.

A man of middle age came into the room, with a whip in his hand, and his
hat jammed well on his head.

"Good evening, Ephraim."

"Sarvent, sirs!"

"Captain, this is Ephraim Winship. He knows something about Indian
fighting. Show him your head, Ephraim."

Ephraim took off his hat, and lifted his wig from his head. He had but
one eye. There were two bare red spots on top of his head, and between
them a fringe of hair ran back from his forehead. It gave him a weird
appearance.

"Hello!" said Rogers. "You've been among the Indians, haven't you? How
did you lose your scalp or scalps? For I see you have lost two."

The men made room for Ephraim. He put on his wig and sat down.

"I have to keep those spots pretty well covered up these winter nights,
or I have all sorts of trouble with my head.

"I had been living down on the Eastern Frontier for some years at a
place called New Marblehead. We had plenty of scares, but no real
trouble with the Indians, till this war broke out. It was in May, two
years ago. I went out with Ezra Brown, to do some work on his farm,
which was a mile from the garrison house where we lived. We had a guard
of four men and four lads. Ezra and I were ahead. As we were walking
through some woods, the Indians--there were fifteen to twenty of
them--fired at us. I felt a twinge in my