Just as Dunning, who had collected a band of voters, without much regard to their qualifications, was pushing into the house at the head of his recruits, an outcry was raised within; and, the next moment, Bart Burt was seen hastily emerging from the crowd, followed by the kicks and cudgel-blows of the tories, through whom he had been compelled, to save himself from a rougher handling, to run the gauntlet to the door. “What, in the name of der Tophet, is the meaning of that ditter treatment, ye shameless lubbers?” sternly demanded the hunter, shaking his stout beech cane over the heads of the fore most of his opponents. “He deserves it! He is an impostor! He tried to get in his vote when he aint over eighteen years old!” shouted several tory voices in reply. “They let me vote last time without a word,” said Bart, facing round upon his foes, with a grin of spite and pain; “and so they did John Stubbs and Jo Snelling, then and now too; and they aint a day older than I be.” “Then we will der have you in, and vote too, if the ditter divil stands at the door!” fiercely exclaimed the hunter. “Let them prove he aint one and twenty,” said one of the same party. “He wasn't born in these parts, nor does he know himself, I understand, where he was born, or how old he is; and until they can prove him under age, I motion, blow high or blow low, that we make them receive his vote.” “Aye, he shall vote! he shall vote!” shouted a dozen others. “They have admitted others under age, and they shall him, whether or no! Let them live up to their own rules! Sauce for goose is sauce for gander, the world over; they shall take him, they shall take him!” A hasty consultation was now held, and a plan of operations for compelling the opposite party to admit Bart to the polls was soon digested. And, in pursuance of this plan, Bart, who was short and light of weight, was mounted astride the brawny shoulders of Dunning, while Piper, with his burly frame, was placed in front, with a stiff cudgel in hand, to act as the battering-ram or entering wedge to the crowd of tories, who had closed up the way with their bodies, obviously to prevent Bart, or any other whig, indeed, from again entering till the ballot-box was turned. Eight or ten stout, resolute young men were then selected and formed in column to bring up the rear, and give such an impetus to those before them as to force them forward in spite of all opposing obstacles, till they reached the voters' stand in the house. “Ditter ready, boys?” now cried Dunning, firmly grasping Bart's legs, and glancing over his shoulders to his lusty little band of backers. “All ready there, behind, boys? Then go ahead, as if ditter Belzebub kicked ye an end!”