ntiful. It had been determined
some time before Christmas that we would have a big hare-hunt on that
day, and the "boys"--that is, the young darkies--came to the house from
the quarters, prepared for the sport, and by the time breakfast was over
they were waiting for us around the kitchen door.

Breakfast was always late about Christmas time; perhaps, the spareribs
and sausages and the jelly dripping through a blanket hung over the legs
of an upturned table accounted for it; and on, this Christmas eve it was
ten by the tall clock in the corner of the dining-room before we were
through.

When we came out, the merry darkies were waiting for us, grinning and
showing their shining teeth, laughing and shouting and calling the
dogs. They were not allowed to have guns; but our guns, long old
single-barrels handed down for at least two generations, had been
carried out and cleaned, and they were handing them around, inspecting
and aiming them with as much pride as if they had been brand-new. There
was only one exception to this rule: Uncle "Limpy-Jack," so called
because he had one leg shorter than the other, was allowed to have a
gun. He was a sort of professional hunter about the place. No lord
was ever prouder of a special privilege handed down in his family for
generations.

The other boys were armed with stout sticks and made much noise. Uncle
Limpy-Jack was in this respect also the only exception; he was grave
as became a "man" who was a hunter by business, and "warn't arter no
foolishness." He allowed no one to touch his gun, which thus possessed
a special value. He carried his powder in a gourd and his shot in an old
rag.

The pack of dogs I have described, fully recruited, were hanging around,
growling and snarling, sneaking into the kitchen and being kicked out by
Aunt Betty and her corps of varicolored assistants, largely augmented
at the approach of Christmas with its cheer. The yelping of the mongrel
pack, the shouts and whoops of the boys, and the laughter of the maids
or men about the kitchen and back-yard, all in their best clothes and
in high spirits, were exhilarating, and with many whoops and much
"hollering," we climbed the yard fence, and, disdaining a road, of
course, set out down the hill across the field, taking long strides,
each one bragging loudly of what he would do.

Let me see: there were John and Andrew and Black Peter, and Bow-legged
Saul, and Milker-Tim, and Billy, and Uncle Limpy-Jack, an