The risibilities of the counterfeit Dinah were now at their utmost tension and she contrived to place a foot heavily upon the caudal appendage of the great house dog lying near. There was a sudden bound of the brute, accompanied by a most unearthly howl, and away darted the decrepid fugitive, shrieking, “O Lor’ de houn’, de houn’.” It was in vain the philanthropic old agent called after her, that there was no danger; on she sped until an opportunity offered to restore herself to Japhetic hue and male attire. Mr. Bartlett long upbraided the female portion of his household for want of humanity on that occasion, but was allowed to die in blissful ignorance of the ruse played upon him, and DeWitt confessed that the ultimate fun derived therefrom scarcely compensated for the annoyance of the old gentleman and the trouble of removing the _cork_. VI. A year has passed anxiously at Albany with Jo. Rumors reached him that in an attempt to escape, Mary had been captured and sold into the south forever beyond his reach. Gathering up his earnings and bidding his companions good-by, he started rather aimlessly westward, and where he would have brought up no one can tell, had he not one day met a stranger, a pleasant, benevolent looking gentleman, near the village of Versailles, N. Y. It was just at the close of that most hilarious campaign in which the cry of “Tippecanoe and Tyler too,” with “two dollars a day and roast beef,” mollified with liberal potations of “hard cider,” rendered “Little Matty Van a used up man,” though the result was not yet ascertained, for no telegraph had learned to herald its lightning message in advance of time. If no other good came from the campaign, it had given every class of men the free use of the tongue in hurrahing for his favorite candidate, and foot-sore and hungry as he was, there was something about the gentleman that said to Jo, “Now is your opportunity,” and touching his hat in genuine politeness he called out, “Hooraw for Ol’ Tip.” Good naturedly the gentleman responded, “Well, my good fellow, it is a little late for you to be hurrahing for any candidate now that election is over, and, though you didn’t quite strike my man, I shall find no fault. I know what you want more than ‘hard cider.’ It is a night’s food and lodging.” “Thank you Massa, I’se tired and hungry, an’ de fac’ am I doan know what to do with myself.” “Well, no matter about that just now. Come along;” and Eber M. Pettit, long known as an earnest Abolitionist in Cattaraugus and Chautauqua counties, led the disheartened wanderer to his home, where, after supper, he questioned him as to his history, and when he had learned his unvarnished tale, he suggested that the man should stay with him that winter as a man-of-all-chores, and attend the village school.