Ben saw his eyes shine, and kicked the log off the block; as the coon attempted to run out, it fell on his tail and held him fast. There he sat, captive but undismayed, showing his white teeth, and frothing at his mouth with pain and rage.
“How are you, coonie?” said Joe, taking off his hat and making a low bow; “by the chances of war you are now our prisoner; we are cannibals, of the cannibal tribe, and eat all our captives; you must die for the good of the tribe;” and thus saying he knocked him on the head.
“I’ll get mother to bake him to-night,” said Ben; “come over to-morrow, Joe, and help eat him.”
“Boys,” said Uncle Isaac, “don’t you think we look well skylarking at this rate? and to-day is Saturday, too; now we must put in hard enough to make up for it.”
They labored till dark, as if their lives depended on it.
“I thought you were going to leave off earlier Saturday night,” said Hannah Murch, as she met them at the landing. “I’ve been waiting here more’n two hours in the cold. I was afraid some accident had befallen you.”
Ben held up the raccoon.
“I see how it is; you’ve been cooning, and had to work later to make it up. Isaac, I do wish you would ever leave off being a boy.”
“Well, you’re the first woman I ever heard of that wanted her husband to grow old.”