voice was heard at the other end
of the house.

"Ho! Corrie."

"That's me," cried the boy, promptly springing up and rushing out of the
room.

"Here, my boy; I thought I heard your voice. I want you to go a message
for me. Run down, like a good lad, to Ole Thorwald, and tell him to come
up here as soon as he conveniently can. There are matters to consult
about which will not brook delay."

"Ay, ay, sir," answered Corrie, sailor fashion, as he touched his
forelock and bounded from the room.

"Off on pressing business," cried the sanguine youth, as he dashed
through the kitchen, frightening Alice, and throwing Toozle into
convulsions of delight,--"horribly important business, that 'won't brook
delay;' but what _brook_ means is more than I can guess."

Before the sentence was finished, Corrie was far down the hill, leaping
over every obstacle like a deer. On passing through a small field he
observed a native bending down, as if picking weeds, with his back
towards him. Going softly up behind, he hit the semi-naked savage a
sounding slap, and exclaimed, as he passed on, "Hallo! Jackolu;
important business, my boy--hurrah!"

The native to whom this rough salutation was given was a tall, stalwart
young fellow, who had for some years been one of the best-behaved and
most active members of Frederick Mason's dark-skinned congregation. He
stood erect for some time, with a broad grin on his swarthy face and a
twinkle in his eye, as he gazed after the young hopeful, muttering to
himself, "Ho! yes--bery wicked boy dat, bery; but hims capital chap, for
all dat."

A few minutes later, Master Corrie burst in upon the sturdy middle-aged
merchant, named Ole Thorwald, a Norwegian, who had resided much in
England, and spoke the English language well, and who prided himself on
being entitled to claim descent from the old Norwegian sea-kings. This
man was uncle and protector to Corrie.

"Ho! Uncle Ole; here's a business. Sich a to-do--wounds, blood, and
murder! or at least an attempt at it;--the whole settlement in arms,
and the parson sends for you to take command!"

"What means the boy!" exclaimed Ole Thorwald, who, in virtue of his
having once been a private in a regiment of militia, had been appointed
to the chief command of the military department of the settlement. This
consisted of about thirty white men, armed with fourteen fowling-pieces,
twenty daggers, fifteen swords, and eight cavalry pistols; and about two
hundred