lp her the fastest.

Well--what do you think _was_ to pay when they got there?

Her old cow was choking with a turnip!

Now I'm going to tell you one more backwoods story while I'm about it.

* * *

A great roaring fire was burning in Zeke Smith's log house; and all the
Tims, and Joes, and Bills, and Jacks, and Sams had come in to see him.
They peeled chestnuts and threw the shells into the fire, and the
shells cracked and snapped, and the blaze lit up all their
weather-beaten, bronzed faces, and they drank cider out of a great mug,
and talked about one thing and another that you and I don't care about;
and then Zeke Smith said he lost a sheep last night.

"So did I," said Pete Parker.

"I lost two hens," said Joachim Jones.

"I lost a _ram_," said Bill Bond.

"Don't _say_ so!" said Zeke. "Well, that _is_ a loss. There's a bear
about,--that's certain; and it's just as certain that we are the boys
to kill him. I should like to see a bear get out of the way of _my_
rifle!"

"Or mine"--

"Or mine," said they all.

Well, they agreed to start the next morning, by daylight, to hunt up
the bear. They fixed their rifles the night before, and in the morning
got up bright and early, and got into their great boots, and buttoned
up their coats and strided off, with provisions in their pouches, for
they were determined not to come back without him.

On they tramped, over bush and bog and briar; the dogs running before
and scenting round among the bushes. All day, no luck. Night came on,
and still no luck; so they "camped out," and started fresh again the
next morning.

About dark the dogs scented the bear, sure enough,--and what a
monstrous fellow he was--black as Topsy, too! Never mind, his time had
come _now_. He ran up an old stub, and sat perched on the top. They
pointed their rifles--took aim--not a rifle went off! and Bruin sat
grinning at them.

Wern't they furious? I wouldn't undertake to repeat what they said,
'cause it wouldn't answer. The bear came down from the stub, and ran
off into a swamp; so they had the hunt all over again. They primed
their guns anew and picked the flints (for percussion locks had not
then been invented,) so that their rifles would be sure to go off; for
you may be certain that they wouldn't have that story told in "the
settlement," for a barrel of their best cider. So taking their
newly-primed rifles, off they started again, with thei