"So, Master Murphy, you are there at last," said he. "Yes, massa--yes, massa." "Pray, can you tell me, Murphy, if any one has arrived here--any stranger come into the house while I slept;" then _aside_, as the players say, "or has it really and truly been all a _drame_?" "No see noting, massa--nor nobody"--[_yawn_.] "You didn't, oh--there, do you see any thing now?" said my uncle--as he took the candle out of the black paw, and put the lighted end, with all the composure in life, into Murphy's open mouth, where it shone through his cheeks like a rushlight in a winter turnip, until it burned the poor fellow, and he started back, overturning his sleepy coadjutor, Dennis, headlong on the floor. On which signal, Twig and Flamingo, who were all this time coiled up like two baboons below the sideboard, choking with laughter, caught Uncle Frenche by the legs, a limb a piece, who thereupon set up a regular howl--"ach, murder! murder! it is abducted, and ravished, and married against my will I shall be--murder!"--as _he_ in turn capsized over the prostrate negroes, and all was confusion and vociferation once more--until my two travelling friends, who had cleverly slipped out of the _mêlée_, while my uncle was clapperclawing with his serving-men, returned from the pantry, whither they had betaken themselves; and now stood on the original field of battle, the landing-place of the stair, each with a lighted candle in his hand, and making believe to be in great amazement at the scene before them. "Heyday," quoth Twig, "what's the matter, Master Frenche?--what uproar is this in the house?--we heard it at the Devil's Gully, two miles off, believe me." "Uproar?" shouted Uncle Lathom, still sitting on the floor, scratching his poll--"uproar, were you pleased to say?--pray, who the mischief are you, gentlemen, who conceive yourselves privileged to speak of any little noise I choose to make in my own house?--tell me in an instant, or by the powers I will shoot you for a brace of robbers"--clapping the lemonade decanter, which had all this time escaped by a miracle, to his shoulder, blunderbuss fashion. Here gradually slewing himself round on his tail, and rubbing his eyes, he at length confronted me, as I sat coiled up behind the leaf of the door--"Why, _here_ is a second edition of my drame." The very absurd expression of face with which he said this, and regarded me, fairly upset my gravity, already heavily taxed, and losing all control, I laughed outright. "Another of them! and who _may you be_, young gentleman?--_you_ seem to find yourself at home, at any rate, I think." "Come, come," said Flamingo--"enough of this nonsense--don't you know your friends Twig and Flamingo, Mr Frenche?"