ame; and after another rampage round
his prison, the poor boy nestled down among the leaves, and went fast
asleep because there was nothing else to do.

So there they were, the two young hunters, lost at midnight on the
mountain,--one hanging like an apple on the old tree, and the other
sound asleep in a bear-pit. Their distracted mothers meantime were
weeping and wringing their hands at the farm, while all the men in
the neighborhood were out looking for the lost boys. The hunter on his
return to the hotel had reported meeting the runaways and his effort to
send them home in good season; so people knew where to look, and, led
by the man and dog, up the mountain went Mr. Mullin with his troop. It
was a mild night, and the moon shone high and clear; so the hunt was,
on the whole, rather easy and pleasant at first, and lanterns flashed
through the dark forest like fireflies, the lonely cliffs seemed alive
with men, and voices echoed in places where usually only the brooks
babbled and the hawks screamed. But as time went on, and no sign of the
boys appeared, the men grew anxious, and began to fear some serious harm
had come to the runaways.

"I can't go home without them little shavers no way, 'specially Tommy,"
said Mr. Mullin, as they stopped to rest after a hard climb through the
blasted grove. "He's a boy after my own heart, spry as a chipmunk, smart
as a young cockerel, and as full of mischief as a monkey. He ain't
afraid of anything, and I shouldn't be a mite surprised to find him
enjoyin' himself first-rate, and as cool as a coocumber."

"The fat boy won't take it so easily, I fancy. If it hadn't been for him
I'd have kept the lively fellow with me, and shown him how to hunt.
Sorry now I didn't take them both home," said the man with the gun,
seeing his mistake too late, as people often do.

"Maybe they've fell down a precipice and got killed, like Moses Warner,
when he was lost," suggested a tall fellow, who had shouted himself
hoarse.

"Hush up, and come on! The dog is barkin' yonder, and he may have found
'em," said the farmer, hurrying toward the place where the hound was
baying at something in a tree.

It was poor Billy, hanging there still, half unconscious with weariness
and fear. The belt had slipped up under his arms, so he could breathe
easily; and there he was, looking like a queer sort of cone on the
blasted pine.

"Wal, I never!" exclaimed the farmer, as the tall lad climbed up, and,
unhooking