It was beautifully done. Even Ellen could see that, although she could not have known if it had been done ill. The knife, guided by strength and skill, seemed to go with the greatest ease and certainty just where he wished it; the hams were beautifully trimmed out; the pieces fashioned clean; no ragged cutting; and his quick-going knife disposed of carcass after carcass with admirable neatness and celerity. Sam meanwhile arranged the pieces in different parcels at his direction, and minded the kettle, in which a great boiling and scumming was going on. Ellen was too much amused for a while to ask any questions. When the cutting up was all done, the hams and shoulders were put in a cask by themselves, and Mr. Van Brunt began to pack down the other pieces in the kits, strewing them with an abundance of salt. "What's the use of putting all that salt with the pork, Mr. Van Brunt?" said Ellen. "It wouldn't keep good without that; it would spoil very quick." "Will the salt make it keep?" "All the year round — as sweet as a nut." "I wonder what is the reason of that," said Ellen. "Will salt make everything keep good?" "Everything in the world — if it only has enough of it, and is kept dry and cool." "Are you going to do the hams in the same way?" "No; — they're to go in that pickle over the fire." "In this kettle? what is in it?" said Ellen. "You must ask Miss Fortune about that; — sugar, and salt, and saltpetre, and molasses, and I don't know what all." "And will this make the hams so different from the rest of the pork?" "No; they've got to be smoked after they have laid in that for a while." "Smoked!" said Ellen; "how?" "Why, han't you been in the smoke-house? The hams has to be taken out of the pickle and hung up there! and then we make a little fire of oak chips, and keep it burning night and day." "And how long must they stay in the smoke?" "Oh, three or four weeks or so." "And then they are done?" "Then they are done." "How very curious?" said Ellen. "Then it's the smoke that gives them that nice taste? I never knew smoke was good for anything before." "Ellen!" said the voice of Miss Fortune, from the top of the stairs — "come right up here, this minute! you'll catch your death!" Ellen's countenance fell. "There's no sort of fear of that, Ma’am," said Mr. Van Brunt, quietly; "and Miss Ellen is fastened up so, she can't get loose; and I can't let her out just now." The upper door was shut again pretty sharply, but that was the only audible expression of opinion with which Miss Fortune favoured them. "I guess my leather curtains keep off the wind, don't they?" said Mr. Van Brunt. "Yes, indeed they do," said Ellen; "I don't feel a breath; I am as warm as a toast — too warm, almost. How nicely you have fixed me up, Mr. Van Brunt!" "I thought that 'ere old buffalo had done its work," he said; "but I'll never say anything is good for nothing again. Have you found out where the apples are, yet?" "No," said Ellen.