Between lifts the sleepy ones would tumble back on the grass, amusing themselves with poking fun at one another. The dance gave them enough to talk about. But the one thing that touched them off again and again into spasms of laughter was the suggestion of Uncle Toby’s tumble from his fiddler’s perch, and Bud’s yell and flight. “Now all together, yo-hee!” Captain Hanks shouted for the twentieth time that day. The log was beginning slowly to rise when Jim suddenly let go his hold and yelled, “Now, altogether--whoopee!” The crowd collapsed, sinking to the ground with the big log on top of them. “You fellows must have had a high time last night,” said Fred, “the fuss you make about it.” “Bully time it was, Teddy,” returned Jim; “why didn’t you turn up and help swing the ranch lassies off their feet?” “Oh, the kid’s not of our kind,” sneered Dick; “you wouldn’t catch him swinging the girls.” “Don’t be too sure about that, Dick,” retorted Fred; “I’ll just take in the next dance to show you how.” “Good fer you, me boy,” said Pat, “and we’ll leave Dick home to do the cookin’, next toime.” “You’ll go damned hungry if you do,” snapped Dick. “Oh, well, me boy, oh well,” Pat broke out singing: It’s divil a rap do I care, It’s divil a rap do I care, As long as a drap is left, is left, In the old demijohn next mornin’. “That reminds me,” said Cap Hanks, “there’s a demijohn under my bunk, Pat; go get it. The boys need a drop to keep ’em awake to-day.” “I’m off,” said Pat, jogging away to the old shack. He found a gallon jug of choice old rye where the foreman had said, and was soon back to the barn. “Now do the honors, cook,” said Hanks, “the treat’s on me.” “You’re a gintleman!” said Pat, pouring out and passing round the whisky. When his turn came he took a long drink, rubbing his stomach with his free hand the while, then smacking his lips, he raised his eyes and said solemnly, “Hiven at last.” When the laughter that greeted Pat’s performance subsided, Jim said, “You’d better watch out, Dicky, or Teddy here will be leadin’ you a merry chase after your ranch lassie.” “Yes,” added Pat; “you know that the loikes of ye can’t talk poetry, and Teddy can.” “Oh, I’ll risk it; he’s harmless,” returned Dick. “Don’t you be too sure; you can’t tell how far a toad can jump by his looks,” said Jim dryly; “and remember you promised to make me boss when old Morgan deeds the ranch to you.” “Hip, hooray!” broke in Pat, “what bloomin’ circus is this a-comin’?” Everybody looked up. “A bunch of Injuns, by ginger!” said Cap Hanks; “I hope they won’t pitch their wickiups about here. They’ll beg the boots off our feet.” “They’re heading this way,” said Dan. “Holy mither, defind us poor sinners,” said Pat in mock fright. “Me head is bald as a button already; it’s no ither scalp I have to spare.” “Hike to the shack with that whisky, Pat,” said the foreman, “and put it out of sight.”