Our hero handed the cards to his father, who dropping the plough-line with which he had intended to tie Simon’s hands, turned his back to that individual, in order to prevent his witnessing the operation of _mixing_. He then sat down, and very leisurely commenced shuffling the cards, making, however, an exceedingly awkward job of it. Restive _kings_ and _queens_ jumped from his hands, or obstinately refused to slide into the company of the rest of the pack. Occasionally, a sprightly _knave_ would insist on _facing_ his neighhour; or, pressing his edge against another’s, half double himself up, and then skip away. But Elder Jedediah perseveringly continued his attempts to subdue the refractory, while heavy drops burst from his forehead, and ran down his cheeks. All of a sudden, an idea, quick and penetrating as a rifle-ball, seemed to have entered the cranium of the old man. He chuckled audibly. The devil had suggested to Mr. Suggs an _impromptu_ “stock,” which would place the chances of Simon—already sufficiently slim in the old man’s opinion—without the range of possibility. Mr. Suggs forthwith proceeded to cull out all the _picter cards_—so as to be certain to include the _jacks_—and place them at the bottom; with the evident intention of keeping Simon’s fingers above these when he should cut. Our hero, who was quietly looking over his father’s shoulders all the time, did not seem alarmed by this disposition of the cards; on the contrary, he smiled as if he felt perfectly confident of success, in spite of it. “Now, daddy,” said Simon, when his father had announced himself ready, “nary one of us ain’t got to look at the cards, while I’m a cuttin’; if we do, it’ll spile the conjuration.” “Very well.” “And another thing—you’ve got to look me right dead in the eye, daddy—will you?” “To be sure—to be sure,” said Mr. Suggs; “fire away.” Simon walked up close to his father, and placed his hand on the pack. Old Mr. Suggs looked in Simon’s eye, and Simon returned the look for about three seconds, during which a close observer might have detected a suspicious working of the wrist of the hand on the cards, but the elder Suggs did not remark it. “Wake snakes! day’s a breakin’! Rise Jack!” said Simon, cutting half a dozen cards from the top of the pack, and presenting the face of the bottom one for the inspection of his father. It was the Jack of Hearts! Old Mr. Suggs staggered back several steps, with uplifted eyes and hands! “Marciful Master!” he exclaimed, “ef the boy hain’t! well, how in the round creation of the——! Ben, did you ever! to be sure and sartin, Satan has power on this yearth!” and Mr. Suggs groaned in heavy bitterness. “You never seed nothin’ like that in _Augusty_, did ye, daddy?” asked Simon, with a malicious wink at Ben. “Simon, _how_ did you do it?” queried the old man, without noticing his son’s question. “Do it, daddy? Do it? ’Taint nothin’. I done it jest as easy as—shootin’.”