“What’s the matter, Hans?  Are you sick?” she asked, with considerable solicitude.

“No, my dear, good Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock, I feels so goot as, ever, but I t’inks te mornin’ air does me goot, so I goes out to got a little.”

No objection being interposed, he sauntered carelessly forth, taking a direction that would lead him to the spot where he had held the interview with the Huron upon the previous day.  He walked slowly, for it lacked considerable of the hour which had been fixed upon for the meeting, and, knowing the mathematical exactitude with which his friend kept his appointments, he had no desire to reach the spot in advance.

“I doeshn’t wish to hurry, so I t’inks I will rest myself here, and den when——­”

Hans was prevented any further utterance, by some heavy body striking his shoulders with such force that he was thrown forward upon his face, and his hat smashed over his eyes.

“Mine Gott! vot made tat tree fall on me?” he exclaimed, endeavoring to crawl from beneath what he supposed to be the trunk of an immense oak which he had noticed towering above him.  This belief was further strengthened by a glimpse which he caught of a heavy branch upon the ground.

“Hebens, golly! dat you, ole swill-barrel?” greeted his ears; and he picked his hat and himself up at the same time, to see the negro, Cato, lying on the ground, with his heels high up in the air.

“Dunder and blixen! who are you?” inquired Hans, more astonished than ever.  “Did you drop down out te clouds?”

“Yah! yah! yah! what makes you fink so, old hogsit, eh?  No, sir-ee!  I’s Mr. Cato, a nigger gentleman of Mr. Capting Prescott.”

The large eyes of the Dutchman grew larger as he proceeded.  “Vot makes you falls on mine head, eh?”

“I’s up in de tree a-takin’ ob obserwashuns, when jis’ as you got down hyar, de limb broke, and down I comes.  Much obleege fur yer bein’ so kind fur to stand under and breaks my fall.”

“And breaks mine own neck, too, eh?”

“Who might be you wid your big bread-basket?” inquired Cato, still lying upon his back and kicking up his heels.

“Me?  I’s Hans Vanderbum, dat pelongs to Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock.”

Cato grew sober in an instant.  He had heard Lieutenant Canfield mention this man’s name in conversation with the Huron, and suspected at once that he was to perform a part in the day’s work.

“You’re Hans Vanderbum, eh?  I’ve heerd Massa Canfield and Mister Oonymoo speak of you.”

“Yaw, I’m him.  Where am dey?”

“Ain’t fur off.  I lef ’em sleepin’; and come out for to see whedder dar war any Injines crawlin’ round in de woods, and I didn’t see none but you, and you ain’t an Injine.”

The appointed hour for the meeting between Hans Vanderbum and Oonomoo having arrived, the Dutchman added: 

“He ish to meet me ’bout dis time or leetles sooner, and, so we both goes togedder mit each oder, so dat we won’t bees alone.”