“Ruined by me!  Pshaw, Bunce, you are a fool.  I was your friend all the time.”

“Oh, yes!  I can see how.  But though you did stop, when they began, yet you did enough to set them on.  That was like a good lawyer, I guess, but not so much like a friend.  Had you been a friend, you could have saved my property from the beginning.”

“Nay, nay, Bunce; you do me wrong.  They had sworn against you long ago, and you know them well enough.  The devil himself couldn’t stop ’em when once upon the track.  But don’t be down in the mouth.  I can save you now.”

“Save me!”

“Ay! don’t you hear?  They’re singing the regulation song.  Once that blaze goes down, they’ll be after you.  It’s a wonder they’ve left you here so long.  Now’s your time.  You must be off.  Fly by the back door, and leave it to me to get damages for your loss of property.”

“You, lawyer? well, I should like to know how you calkilate to do that?”

“I’ll tell you.  You know my profession.”

“I guess I do, pretty much.”

“Thus, then—­most of these are men of substance; at least they have enough to turn out a pretty good case each of them—­now all you have to do is to bring suit.  I’ll do all that, you know, the same as if you did it yourself.  You must lay your damages handsomely, furnish a few affidavits, put the business entirely in my hands, and—­how much is the value of your goods?”

“Well, I guess they might be worth something over three hundred and twenty dollars and six shillings, York money.”

“Well, give me all the particulars, and I venture to assure you that I can get five hundred dollars damages at least, and perhaps a thousand.  But of this we can talk more at leisure when you are in safety.  Where’s your cart, Bunce?”

“On t’other side of the house—­what they’ve left on it.”

“Now, then, while they’re busy over the blaze, put your tackle on, hitch your horse, and take the back track to my clearing; it’s but a short mile and a quarter, and you’ll be there in no time.  I’ll follow in a little while, and we’ll arrange the matter.”

“Well, now, lawyer, but I can’t—­my horse, as you see, having over eat himself, is struck with the founders and can’t budge.  I put him in ‘Squire Dickens’ stable, ’long with his animals, and seeing that he hadn’t had much the day before, I emptied the corn from their troughs into his, and jest see what’s come of it.  I hadn’t ought to done so, to be sure.”

“That’s bad, but that must not stop you.  Your life, Bunce, is in danger, and I have too much regard for you to let you risk it by longer stay here.  Take my nag, there—­the second one from the tree, and put him in the gears in place of your own.  He’s as gentle as a spaniel, and goes like a deer.  You know the back track to my house, and I’ll come after you, and bring your creature along.  I ’spose he’s not so stiff but he can bring me.”