ake a stew of them--a smother, as you call it, in a
little less than no time, Archer; and I've got half a dozen of them big
gray snipe--English snipe--that I killed down by my little run'-side;
you'll have them roasted with the guts in, I guess! and then there's a
pork-steak and sassagers--and if you don't like that, you can jist go
without. Here, Brower, take these to your mother, and tell her to git
supper right stret off--and you tell Emma Jane to make some buckwheat
cakes for A---! he can't sup no how without buckwheat cakes; and I sets
a great store by A---! I does, by G--! and you needn't laugh, boys, for
I doos a darned sight more than what I doos by you."

"That's civil, at all events, and candid," replied Frank; "and it's
consolatory, too, for I can fancy no greater reproach to a man, than to
be set store on by you. I do not comprehend at all, how A--- bears up
under it. But come, do make that egg-nog that you're chattering about."

"How will I make it, Harry--with beer, or milk, or cider?"

"All three! now be off, and don't jaw any more!" answered Archer--
"asking such silly questions, as if you did not know better than any of
us."

In a few minutes the delicious compound was prepared, and, with a plate
of toasted crackers and some right good Orange County butter, was set on
a small round stand before the fire; while from the neighboring kitchen
rich fumes began to load the air, indicative of the approaching supper.
In the mean time, the wagon was unloaded; Timothy bustled to and fro;
the parlor was arranged; the bed-rooms were selected by that worthy; and
everything set out in its own place, so that they could not possibly
have been more comfortable in their own houses. The horses had been duly
cleaned, and clothed, and fed; the dogs provided with abundance of dry
straw, and a hot mess of milk and meal; and now, in the far corner of
the bar-room, the indefatigable varlet was cleaning the three double
guns, as scientifically as though he had served his apprenticeship to a
gunsmith.

Just at this moment a heavy foot was heard upon the stoop, succeeded by
a whining and a great scratching at the door. "Here comes that Indian,
Jem," cried Tom, and as he spoke the door flew open, and in rushed old
Whino, the tall black and tan foxhound, and Bonnybelle, and Blossom, and
another large blue-mottled bitch, of the Southern breed. It was a
curious sight to observe by how sudden and intuitive an instinct the
hounds r