“Haul him out! haul him out!” And instantly the students dived, pell-mell, under the table. It would be simply impossible to describe the scene that followed. Under the table there was an inextricably entangled mass of vigorous young fellows, some on their heads, others on their backs, with their heels in the air, tugging away with might and main at each other’s arms and legs; for safety, as to the Greeks at Salamis, had arisen for Jones from the very numbers of his foes. Meantime the table danced and bumped over the floor, rocking and tossing above this human earthquake; while around it there arose such peals of uproarious laughter as one could not expect to hear twice in a life-time. “Mein Gott!” gasped the Herr, falling up against the piano, and wiping his streaming eyes, “mein Gott, how many funs!” But the scene did not last half so long as I have been in painting it. It was the middle-aged fat gentleman that, in the twinkling of an eye, put an end to all this tumultuous laughter, or, at any rate, drew its brunt upon himself. The M. A. F. G., as above stated, was tilting back in one of my grandfather’s slender chairs, in front of the fire, balancing himself on tiptoe, and rocking to and fro with uncontrollable laughter. In front of him a student was backing out from under the table, all doubled up, his head not yet free from its edge, and tugging away manfully at the leg of a comrade. Suddenly the foot he held resigned its boot to his keeping. The M. A. F. G. could hardly tell, afterwards, what it was that, like a battering-ram of old, smote him at the junction of vest and trousers; but it would seem to have been that student’s head. Up flew his heels, crash went the chair, and, quicker than thought, he was sprawling upon his back in the midst of that roaring hickory fire. A dozen hands seized and dragged him forth. Jones and his fiddle were forgotten; and he and his young friends emerged from under the table to join in the shouts of laughter that greeted the M. A. F. G., as he capered briskly about, brushing the coals and ashes from his broad back, and belabored by his friends, who were assisting him in saving his coat. “Tausendteufels! vot for a shbree!” And the Herr sank exhausted upon the piano-stool.[1] ----- [1] It will doubtless surprise the reader to be informed that this whole scene actually occurred, substantially as I have described it,—even the last seemingly extravagant detail having been witnessed, not invented, by the author. CHAPTER XXXII. “Christmas gift! young ladies, Christmas gift!” chirped Aunt Phœbe, bustling briskly, in her resplendent bandanna, into the room, and courtesying and bowing, and bowing and courtesying in turn, to the two fair heads that lay deep-nestled in their pillows. “Christmas gift!” modestly echoed the handmaiden Milly, her sable daughter, modestly bringing up the rear and showing all her ivories.