After a critical examination of his victim, our traveller mounted his horse and proceeded on his journey, much gratified at his afternoon’s work, and inwardly resolving how he would make the eyes of James and Aunt Esther stand out, while listening to the account of it he should give them, on his return home.

In about seventeen days after his departure from P., John safely accomplished his journey.  Amidst the subsequent hardships, rough fare and toils of that journey, which, in truth, thirty-five years ago, were things not to be laughed at, he had a constant satisfaction in the recollection of having, with one keen shot, killed a large, fierce, gray wolf.

CHAPTER VIII.

A funeral.

The day following the call made by Mr. Norton on Micah Mummychog, the last-named personage came to Mr. Dubois’s house and Adele happening to open the outside door, just as he hove in sight, he called out, “Miss Ady, do ye know where that individooal that ye brought to my heouse yisterday, is?”

“You mean the missionary?” said Adele.

“Well, yis, I spose so; where is he?”

“He is engaged with a sick gentleman we have here.  He has taken the place of Aunt Patty, who is tired out and has gone to rest”.

“Well, that piece of flesh, what’s called McNab, has the greatest fakkilty of gittin’ tired eout when there’s any work reound, that ever I see.  Any heow, she’s got to stir herself this time.  But I want to see the minister, neow”.

“Yes, I will speak to him.  But I shall not call Aunt Patty.  She is tired now.  I can take care of the sick gentleman.  But what has happened, Micah?”

“Well, there’s goin’ to be a funeral.  I can’t jestly tell ye abeout it neow.  Ye can ax yer sir, when he comes in”, said Micah, reluctant to go into particulars which he knew would shock Adele.

“Well, Captin”, said Micah, when Mr. Norton made his appearance at the door, here’s a reg’lar wind-fall for ye.  Here’s an Irishman over here, as is dead as a door nail.  He’s goin’ to be buried to-night, ’beout sunset, and I dun no but what I can git a chance for ye to hold forth a spell in the grove, jest afore they put him under greound”.

“Dead! the poor man dead! indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Norton.

“Yis.  He was shot right through his heart, and I hope a swingin’ cuss ’ill come on him that put the ball threough, tew”.

“Why, how was it, Mr. Micah?” said Mr. Norton earnestly.

“Well, yeou jest tell me fust wether yeou’ll say prayers, or somethin’ or ’nother over the poor chap’s reeliks”.

“Certainly, I will, Mr. Micah”.