“More of the spy system,” said Hartley, smiling.

“Mr. Hartley, you may smile, but truth is truth,” replied Val; “we had private information that they had arms and rebellious papers, and the latter we have got under the thatch of their cabins.”

“Private information!—­still more of the spy system,” repeated Hartley, smiling again.

“But not the arms?” asked Sir William.

“No, Sir William, not the arms; the rebels were too quick for us there.”

“Then, they expected you it seems,” observed Hartley; “and, if so, when taking away the arms, I am anxious to know why they should have been such fools as to leave the papers behind them.”

“I am not here to account for their conduct, sir,” replied Val, “but to state the facts as they occurred—­they may, for instance, not have had time to bring them.  It is not a month, for instance, since my fellows in Still hunting—­and talking of that, Mr. Hartley, will you allow me to send you a couple of kegs of such stuff as is not to be had on every hill head; I offer it from pure good will, for I really regret that there should be any want of cordiality between our families.”

“Our families,” asked Hartley, with a look of surprise and indignation, “our families, sir! what do you mean?”

“Oh, damn it, Hartley, don’t explode; I mean nothing offensive between us—­then, dropping the families,” said Val, fawningly, for he saw the other’s nostril begin to dilate—­

“And, you cowardly hound, why should you drop the families,” inquired Deaker, taking fire; “do you forget, sirra, who your father was?”

“And do you forget, sirra,” resumed Hartley, “who your mother is?”

“Damn it,” replied Val, still with fawning good-humor, “how am I accountable for their conduct before I had existence?  I neither made them as they were, nor as they are.”

“Then have the modesty,” said Hartley, “to forbear any allusion to them, especially in the way of comparison.”

“For one of them, Hartley, I reply,” said Deaker, “that he is of a better family than yourself; and don’t imagine, my worthy fellow, that however you may browbeat others, you will be permitted to bully or browbeat me.  I say, sir, there is better blood in my veins than ever ran through yours.”

“I had no intention of bullying or browbeating any man here,” replied Hartley, “much less one whose age and virtues must prevent him—­”

“Not from meeting you like a man,” said Deaker; “old as I am, I can yet stand my ground, or if not, d—­n me, I can tie a stake to my bottom, and you may take that as a proof that I won’t run away.”

“Nobody suspects you for that,” said the other.  “Out of the long catalogue of human virtues, courage is the only one loft you, or indeed, you ever had—­unless, indeed, it be the shameless and diabolical honesty of glorying in your own vices.”

“Why, Hartley!” replied Deaker, “you forget, that you had more vices, and,’hammers, too, in your family, and more brass, than ever I or mine could’ boast of.  If the memory of that successful old tinker, your grandfather, had not passed out of your mind, you would make no allusion to vices or screws, and take care, my good hot-brained young fellow, that you don’t die in your family trade, and come to the pully yet.”