there was
nothing else to be done. A smell of hot coffee and the sight of a
well-spread table greeted their senses.

"Welcome, my friends, thrice welcome!" said Andrew. "Put down your
instruments and have some supper."

"Let me relieve you," said Julia, and she took the dumb-bull from Bob
Short and the "horse-fiddle" from Day, the tin horns and tin pans from
others, and the two skillet-lids from Jim West, who looked as sheepish
as possible. August escorted each of them to the table, though his face
did not look altogether cordial. Some old resentment for the treatment
of his father interfered with the heartiness of his hospitality. The
hunchback in this light proved to be Jonas, of course; and Bill Day
whispered to the one next to him that they had been "tuck in and done
fer that time."

"Gentlemen," said Andrew, "we are much obliged for your music." And
Cynthy would certainly have laughed out if she had not been so perplexed
in her mind to know whether Andrew was speaking the truth.

Such a motley set of wedding guests as they were, with their coats
inside out and their other disguises! Such a race of pied pipers! And
looking at their hangdog faces you would have said, "Such a lot of
sheep-thieves!" Though why a sheep-thief is considered to be a more
guilty-looking man than any other criminal, I do not know. Jonas looked
bright enough and ridiculous enough with his hunch. They all ate rather
heartily, for how could they resist the attentions of Cynthy Ann and the
persuasions of Julia, who poured them coffee and handed them biscuit,
and waited upon them as though they were royal guests! And, moreover,
the act of eating served to cover their confusion.

As the meal drew to a close, Bill Day felt that he, being in some sense
the leader of the party, ought to speak. He was not quite sober, though
he could stand without much staggering. He had been trying for some time
to frame a little speech, but his faculties did not work smoothly.

"Mr. President--I mean Mr. Anderson--permit me to offer you our pardon.
I mean to beg your apologies--to--ahem--hope that our--that
your--our--thousand--thanks--your--you know what I mean." And he sat
down in foolish confusion.

"Oh! yes. All right; much obliged, my friend," said the Philosopher,
who had not felt so much boyish animal life in twenty-five years.

And Jim West whispered to Bill: "You expressed my sentiments exactly."

"Mr. Anderson," said Jonas, rising, and thus lifti