“Humph!” the woman dryly repeated. “You’ve come to a dangerous place, then. P’r’aps you may not be aware that ’twas only right down here a bit that Cap’n Cook was killed.” Here Kitty, delighted to see her scheme displaying at last some of the qualities she had claimed for it, took it upon herself to answer, clasping her hands in horror at the announcement made: “Alas, my good woman, how dreadful! And, pray, What’s the name of this barbarous land, did you say?” Her rhythm was not quite as smooth as Jasper’s; but she was true to her air, and the rhyme at the end fairly surprised herself. “Well,” the woman answered seriously, “we gen’rally call it the Cape. Though they do say,” she added, “that they’re tryin’ hard to make an island of it, up to Sandwich.” This was a reference, no doubt, to the famous Cape Cod Canal. Then, still looking her visitors over and trying to make them out, “Do they all sing their words,” she inquired, “in the country you come from?” Kitty was about to reply again; but at this instant a diversion occurred. Master Freddy, moved to exploration on his own account, had strayed away to the kitchen door, and, peeping within it, his eye had fallen upon a huge dish, full of freshly made crullers, resting upon the table. Utterly ravished by the sight, he had given vent to a prolonged “Oh!” and then, mindful of forfeits, but quite compelled to utter himself, he, too, began to sing, and the well worn notes of the “Suwanee River” rose rapturously to the breeze: “Oh, how I wi—i—i—i—_ish_-I Ha—ad a cruller!” “Sakes alive!” exclaimed the woman, looking around. “That reminds me. There’re my crullers all this time. I must run. Come in, won’t ye? Come in an’ try ’em.”