It was too late now to command silence or to control the company in any way. An avalanche of little stones, loosened by scrambling feet, swept past him and went leaping on down below. He heard Miss Moyne utter a little scream of terror that mingled with many exclamations from both men and women, and then he lost his feet and began to slide. Down he sped and down sped the party after him, till in a cataract of mightily frightened, but unharmed men and women, they all went over a little precipice and landed in a scattered heap on a great bed of oak leaves that the winds had drifted against the rock. A few moments of strange silence followed, then everybody sprang up, disheveled and red-faced, to look around and see what was the matter. They found themselves close to the long, low cabin, from under which flowed a stream of water. A little column of smoke was wandering out of a curious clay chimney. Beside the low door-way stood a long, deep trough filled with water in which a metal pipe was coiled fantastically. Two earthen jugs with cob stoppers sat hard by. A sourish smell assaulted their sense and a faint spirituous flavor burdened the air. Cattleton, who was first upon his feet, shook himself together and drolly remarked: "We have arrived in good order, let's interview the----" Just then rushed forth from the door the old man of the place, who halted outside and snatched from its rack on the wall a long tin horn, which he proceeded to blow vigorously, the echoes prowling through the woods and over the foot-hills and scampering far away up and down the valley. Not a soul present ever could forget that sketch, the old man with his shrunken legs bent and wide apart, his arms akimbo as he leaned far back and held up that wailing, howling, bellowing horn, and his long coat-tail almost touching the ground, whilst his fantastic hat quivered in unison with the strain he was blowing. How his shriveled cheeks puffed out, and how his eyes appeared to be starting from their bony sockets! "That is what I call a fitting reception," said Cattleton, gazing at the trumpeter. "See here," exclaimed Crane with evident excitement, "I smell whisky! This----" "Hyer! what d'ye mean hyer, you all a comin' down hyer?" broke forth a wrathful voice, and Wesley Tolliver rushed with melodramatic fierceness upon the scene. "Oh! I--I--wa--want to g--go home!" cried little Mrs. Philpot, clutching Bartley Hubbard's arm. "So do I," said he with phlegmatic cleverness. "I should like to see my mother. I'm feeling a little lonely and----" "What upon yearth do this yer mean, anyhow?" thundered Tolliver. "Who invited you all down yer, tell me thet, will ye?" "Oh, Mr. Tolliver, Mr. Tolliver!" exclaimed Miss Crabb, rushing upon him excitedly, "I'm _so_ glad you are here!" "Well, I'll ber dorged!" he ejaculated, "you down hyer again! Well, I never seed the like afore in all my born days."