Corydon. “Ane large bed, ane flock bed, ane trundle bed, ane chest, ane trunk, ane leather cairpet, sax cawfskin chairs an’ twa-three rush, five pair o’ sheets an’ auchteen dowlas napkins, sax alchemy spunes” —

Phyllis. “I’ll take you.”

At the far end of the meadow, near to the fort, I met young Hamor, alone, flushed, and hurrying back to the more populous part of the field.

“Not yet mated?” I asked. “Where are the maids’ eyes?”

“By — !” he answered, with an angry laugh. “If they’re all like the sample I’ve just left, I’ll buy me a squaw from the Paspaheghs!”