Over the mountain slowly staggers the hunter. 
  Two bucks’ thighs on his shoulders. 
  Twenty deers’ tongues in his belt. 
  “Go, gather wood, kindle a fire, old woman!”
  Off flew the crow—­liar, cheat and deceiver. 
  Wake, oh sleeper, awake! welcome your father!

  He brings you back fat, marrow, venison fresh from the mountain
  Tired and worn, yet he’s carved you a toy of the deer’s horn,
  While he was sitting and waiting long for the deer on the hillside. 
  Wake! see the crow! hiding himself from the arrow;
  Wake, little one, wake! here is your father safe home.’”

“Who’s ’Kuskokala the Shaman’?” the Boy inquired.

“Ah, better ask Nicholas,” answered the priest.

But Nicholas was absorbed in his carving.

Again Mr. O’Flynn obliged, roaring with great satisfaction: 

  “‘I’m a stout rovin’ blade, and what matther my name,
  For I ahlways was wild, an’ I’ll niver be tame;
  An’ I’ll kiss putty gurrls wheriver I go,
  An’ what’s that to annyone whether or no.

    Chorus.

  “’Ogedashin, den thashin, come, boys! let us drink;
  ’Tis madness to sorra, ’tis folly to think. 
  For we’re ahl jolly fellows wheriver we go—­
  Ogedashin, den thashin, na boneen sheen lo!’”

Potts was called on.  No, he couldn’t sing, but he could show them a trick or two.  And with his grimy euchre-deck he kept his word, showing that he was not the mere handy-man, but the magician of the party.  The natives, who know the cards as we know our A B C’s, were enthralled, and began to look upon Potts as a creature of more than mortal skill.

Again the Boy pressed Nicholas to dance.  “No, no;” and under his breath:  “You come Pymeut.”

Meanwhile, O’Flynn, hugging the pleasant consciousness that he had distinguished himself—­his pardner, too—­complained that the only contribution Mac or the Boy had made was to kick up a row.  What steps were they going to take to retrieve their characters and minister to the public entertainment?

“I’ve supplied the decorations,” said Mac in a final tone.

“Well, and the Bhoy?  What good arre ye, annyway?”

“Hard to say,” said the person addressed; but, thinking hard:  “Would you like to see me wag my ears?” Some languid interest was manifested in this accomplishment, but it fell rather flat after Potts’ splendid achievements with the euchre-deck.

“No, ye ain’t good fur much as an enthertainer,” said O’Flynn frankly.

Kaviak had begun to cry for more punch, and Mac was evidently growing a good deal perplexed as to the further treatment for his patient.

“Did ye be tellin’ some wan, Father, that when ye found that Esquimer he had grass stuffed in his mouth?  Sure, he’ll be missin’ that grass.  Ram somethin’ down his throat.”

“Was it done to shorten his sufferings?” the Colonel asked in an undertone.