“Put me down, of course!” Gilbert interrupted, immensely relieved to find how wide his suspicions had fallen from the mark. “That would be a more stirring chase than our last; it is a shame and a disgrace that he is still at large.” “How many have we now?” asked Mark, who was walking on the other side of Barton. “Twenty-one, with Gilbert,” the latter replied. “Well, as Sandy is said to count equal to twenty, we can meet him evenly, and have one to spare,” laughed Mark. “Has any one here ever seen the fellow?” asked Gilbert. “We ought to know his marks.” “He's short, thick-set, with a red face, jet-black hair, add heavy whiskers,” said Barton. “Jet-black hair!” Mark exclaimed; “why, it's red as brick-dust! And I never heard that he wore whiskers.” “Pshaw! what was I thinking of? Red, of course--I meant red, all the time,” Barton hastily assented, inwardly cursing himself for a fool. It was evident that the less he conversed about Sandy Flash, the better. Loud exclamations of surprise and admiration interrupted them. In the shade of the sycamore, on the bright green floor of the silken turf, stood the long supper-table, snowily draped, and heaped with the richest products of cellar, kitchen, and dairy. Twelve chickens, stewed in cream, filled huge dishes at the head and foot, while hams and rounds of cold roast-beef accentuated the space between. The interstices were filled with pickles, pies, jars of marmalade, bowls of honey, and plates of cheese. Four coffee-pots steamed in readiness on a separate table, and the young ladies, doubly charming in their fresh white aprons, stood waiting to serve the tired laborers. Clumps of crown-roses, in blossom, peered over the garden-paling, the woodbine filled the air with its nutmeg odors, and a broad sheet of sunshine struck the upper boughs of the arching sycamore, and turned them into a gilded canopy for the banquet. It might have been truly said of Martha Deane, that she touched nothing which she did not adorn. In the midst of her duties as directress of the festival, she caught a glimpse of the three men, as they approached together, somewhat in the rear of the others. The embarrassed flush had not quite faded from Barton's face, and Gilbert's was touched by a lingering sign of his new trouble. Mark, light-hearted and laughing, precluded the least idea of mystery, but Gilbert's eye met hers with what she felt to be a painfully earnest, questioning expression. The next moment they were seated at the table, and her services were required on behalf of all. Unfortunately for the social enjoyments of Kennett, eating had come to be regarded as a part of labor; silence and rapidity were its principal features. Board and platter were cleared in a marvellously short time, the plates changed, the dishes replenished, and then the wives and maidens took the places of the young men, who lounged off to the road-side, some to smoke their pipes, and all to gossip.