Getting a vague outline of the deacon’s stalwart figure amid the cloud of flour, they began to cry out in dismay. This only served to arouse the deacon the more, and, swinging his long whip in the air, he shouted, louder than ever: “Get erlong there, Jim Crow. It’s Break o’ Day or nothing!” The old wagon, making a noise and confusion heard to the farthest section of the village, the half-crazed deacon and his young companions, who were shouting with laughter, were borne on at a wilder pace than ever. In the midst of this they passed the parsonage, when the horrified minister rushed out of the house, bareheaded and with outstretched arms, calling out to the horse to stop. Then, recognizing the form of his respected parishioner enveloped in the cloud of flour, he shouted, in amazement: “Why, Deacon Cornhill! what has happened? Stop--stop--st----” “It’s Break o’ Day or nothing, parson; snowstorm or no snowstorm! Get erlong, Jim!” The old man barely saved himself from being run over, as the deacon and his companions were carried past, the latter crying out in the ears of the bewildered preacher: “Did you ever get left on the pavements?” CHAPTER VIII. A PRINCE IN RAGS. Meanwhile the crowd about the station had watched the departure of Deacon Cornhill in silence, but no sooner had he disappeared in the distance than Squire Hardy held a consultation of a few words with his nearest friends. Then he turned to address Rob, who, realizing that a crisis of some kind was at hand, calmly waited for him to speak. “Youngster,” began the ’squire, “it must be plain to you by this time that you and your followers made a mistake in coming here as you have. In the first place, it can be of no advantage to you, and in the second place, you are not wanted by us.” “I am sorry, sir, that it has happened as it has, but it does not seem to me that any one is to blame. We have come with honest intentions----” “It requires honest people to carry out honest intentions. It’s the doing that counts. Come, it is nearly night, and you have barely time in which to get out of town before dark. The walking is good on the railroad track.” The tone, more than the words, nettled Ragged Rob, and he exclaimed: “It will be better or worse before I or my friends go that way.” “Don’t you throw any of your New York sass in my face, you ragged dog. You’ll either get out of town pretty lively of your own account, or we will get help for you in a way you may not like. I give you fair warning, and five minutes of time to get started in.” A groan came from the suffering man on the settee, while the others of the forlorn little group turned pale with fright. But Little Hickory was made of sterner stuff, and, drawing his slender figure to its full height, making him like a fairy prince in a disguise of rags, he replied, in a tone heard by the most distant of the spectators: