s mind, but he had a vague notion that Bible times were
as much as fifty years ago. While he stood doubting, Harry began to whip
him with the handkerchief, saying, "I saw her at Cincinnati, last week.
She runs to Maysville and Parkersburg, you goose."

After many names had been guessed, and each guesser had taken his turn,
Ben Berry had to give out. He had just heard the name of a "lower
country" boat, and was sure that it would not be guessed.

"C----p----r," he said.

"Oh, I know," said Jack, who had been studying the steam-boat column of
an old Louisville paper that very morning, "it's the--the--" and he put
his hands over his ears, closed his eyes, and danced around, trying to
remember, while all the rest stood and laughed at his antics. "Now I've
got it,--the 'Cornplanter'!"

And Ben Berry whipped the boys across the road and back, after which
Jack took the handkerchief.

"Oh, say, boys, this is a poor game; let's play fox," Bob suggested.
"Jack's got the handkerchief, let him be the first fox."

So Jack took a hundred yards' start, and all the boys set out after him.
The fox led the hounds across the commons, over the bars, past the
"brick pond," as it was called, up the lane into Moro's pasture, along
the hill-side to the west across Dater's fence into Betts's pasture;
thence over into the large woods pasture of the Glade farm. In every
successive field some of the hounds had run off to the flank, and by
this means every attempt of Jack's to turn toward the river, and thus
fetch a circuit for home, had been foiled. They had cut him off from
turning through Moro's orchard or Betts's vineyard, and so there was
nothing for the fleet-footed fox but to keep steadily to the west and
give his pursuers no chance to make a cut-off on him. But every now and
then he made a feint of turning, which threw the others out of a
straight track. Once in the woods pasture, Jack found himself out of
breath, having run steadily for a rough mile and a half, part of it
up-hill. He was yet forty yards ahead of Bob Holliday and Riley, who led
the hounds. Dashing into a narrow path through the underbrush, Jack ran
into a little clump of bushes and hid behind a large black-walnut log.

Riley and Holliday came within six feet of him, some of the others
passed to the south of him and some to the north, but all failed to
discover his lurking-place. Soon Jack could hear them beating about the
bushes beyond him.

This was his time. Havi