to get up and drive him
through the carpet with a tack hammer. When it comes to wise saws
and proverbial stunts Uncle Peter has Solomon backed up in the
corner.

"John," he said, "this country life is great. Early to bed and
early to rise makes a man's stomach digest mince pies--how's that?
Notice the air out here? How pure and fresh and bracing! You
ought to go out and run a mile, John!"

"I'd like to run ten miles," I answered, truthfully.

"Exercise, that's the essence of life, my boy!" he continued. "I
firmly believe I could run five miles to-day without straining a
muscle."

I laughed internally and thought of the glorious opportunity he'd
have before the morning broke.

"You may or may not know, John," the old gentleman kept on, "that I
was a remarkably fine swordsman in my younger days. Parry, thrust,
cut, slash--heigho! those were the times. And, to tell you the
truth, I'm still able to hold my own with the sword or pistol. I
found a sword hanging on the wall in the hall to-day and I've been
practising a few swings."

A vision of Uncle Peter running a rusty sword into the interior
department of the disguised and disgusted Bunch rose before me, but
I blew it away with a laugh.

"He laughs best who laughs in his sleeve," chuckled the old party.
"Now that we're out in the country all of us should learn to handle
a sword or a pistol. It gives us self reliance. It's very
different from living in the city, I tell you. A tramp in the
lock-up is worth two in the kitchen. I shot at a mark for an hour
to-day."

"What with?" I gasped.

"With a bow and arrow I bought for Tacks yesterday directly I
learned we were coming to the country. I hit the bull's eye five
out of six times. An ounce of prevention is worth two hundred
pounds of policemen, you know. Tacks practised, too, and drove an
arrow through a strange man's overalls and was chased half a mile
for his skill in marksmanship, but, as I said before, the exercise
will do him good."

"Where do you keep this bow and arrow?" I inquired, with a studied
assumption of carelessness.

"To-night I'll keep it under my pillow. _Honi soit qui oncle
Pierre_, which means, evil be to him who monkeys with Uncle Peter,"
he said, solemnly. "To-morrow I'm going to town to buy a bull dog
revolver, maybe a bull dog _and_ a revolver, for a dog in the
manger is the noblest Roman of them all."

I could see poor Bunch scooting across the lawn with a bunch of