“I wonder if you think I’d let a bear sleep in my house,” continued Sneak, searching among a number of boxes and rude shelves, to see if any thing had been molested during his absence. Finding every thing safe, he handed Joe a stool, and began to kindle a fire in a small stone furnace. Joe sat down in silence, and looked about in astonishment. And the scene was enough to excite the wonder of an Irishman. The interior of the tree was full eight feet in diameter, while the eye was lost above in undeveloped regions. Below, there was a surface of smooth stones, which were comfortably carpeted over with buffalo robes. At one side was a diminutive fireplace, or furnace, constructed of three flat stones about three inches in thickness. The largest was laid horizontally on the ground, and the others placed upright on it, and attached to a clay chimney, that was by some means confined to the interior side of the tree, and ran upward until it was lost in the darkness. After gazing in amazement several minutes at this strange contrivance, Joe exclaimed: “Sneak, I don’t understand this! Where does that smoke go to?” “Go out doors and see if you can’t see,” replied Sneak, placing more fuel on the blazing fire. “Go out of the _hole_ you mean to say,” said Joe, creeping out. “You may call it jest what you like,” said Sneak; “but I’ll be switched if many folks lives in _higher_ houses than I does.” “Well, I’ll declare!” cried Joe. “What ails you now?” asked Sneak, thrusting his head out of the aperture, and regarding the surprise of Joe with much satisfaction. “Why, I see the smoke pouring out of a hole in a _limb_ not much bigger than my thigh!” cried Joe. This was true. Sneak had mounted up in the tree before building his chimney, and finding a hollow bough that communicated directly with the main trunk had cut through into the cavity, and thus made a vent for the escape of the smoke. “Come in now, and get something to eat,” said Sneak. This was an invitation that Joe was never known to decline. After casting another admiring glance at the blue vapour that issued from the bough some ninety feet from the ground, he passed through the cavity with alacrity. “Where are you?” cried Joe, upon entering and looking round in vain for his host, who had vanished in a most inexplicable manner. Joe stared in astonishment. The lighted lamp remained on a box, that was designed for the breakfast-table, and on which there was in truth an abundance of dried venison and smoking potatoes. But where was Sneak? “Sneak, what’s become of you?” continued Joe, eagerly listening for a reply, and anxiously scanning the tempting repast set before him. “I know you’re at some of your tricks,” he added, and sitting down at the table, commenced in no indifferent manner to discuss the savoury venison and potatoes.