n care of, and a dinner was provided
them, after which they were ushered into the dancing-hall.

All the beauty of the neighboring precincts was assembled. The ladies
were for the most part white, or what passed for such, with an
occasional dash of copper color. There was no lack of bombazet gowns and
large white pocket-handkerchiefs, perfumed with oil of cinnamon; and as
they took their places in long rows on the puncheon floor, they were a
merry and a happy company.

But the city gentlemen grew more and more gallant--the girls more and
more delighted with their attentions--the country swains, alas! more and
more scowling and jealous. In vain they pigeon-winged and
double-shuffled--in vain they nearly dislocated hips and shoulders at
"hoe corn and dig potatoes"--they had the mortification to perceive that
the smart young sprigs from Chicago had their "pick and choose" among
their very sweethearts, and that they themselves were fairly danced off
the ground.

The revelry lasted until daylight, and it was now time to think of
returning. There was no one ready with obliging politeness to bring them
their horses from the stable.

"Poor fellows!" said one of the party, with a compassionate sort of
laugh, "they could not stand it. They have gone home to bed!"

"Serves them right," said another; "they'd better not ask us down among
their girls again!"

They groped their way to the stable and went in. There were some animals
standing at the manger, but evidently not their horses. What could they
be? Had the rogues been trying to cheat them, by putting these strange
nondescripts into their place?

They led them forth into the gray of the morning, and then--such a trio
as met their gaze!

There were the original bodies, it is true, but where were their manes
and tails? A scrubby, pickety ridge along the neck, and a bare stump
projecting behind, were all that remained of the flowing honors with
which they had come gallivanting down to "bear away the bell" at
Hickory Creek, or, in the emphatic language of the country, "to take the
rag off the bush."

Gholson sat down on a log and cried outright. Medard took the matter
more philosophically--the horse was none of his--it was Lieutenant
Foster's.

Robert characteristically looked around to see whom he could knock down
on the occasion; but there was no one visible on whom to wreak their
vengeance.

The bumpkins had stolen away, and, in some safe, quiet nook, were snugly