"It's a pity we haven't my twelve-pounder here," added Mr. Mellowtone.
"I reckon you'll hev to fotch it down, Mr. Mell'ton."
"I would if I could leave."
"I reckon we kin stand it one night."
"I don't wish to stay here any longer," I added, sorrowfully. "Matt is dead, and I don't care much where I go."
"You'll git over that, boy, one of these days. You kin kerry on the farm and do well here," added Kit. "But I reckon we must plant the old man to-night."
He meant, to bury him; and while they were digging a grave near the block house, I made a rude coffin of some boards we had saved for another purpose. It was the saddest job I had ever done, and my tears fell continually on the work. I carried the box into the house, and my companions laid the silent old man in it. I took my last look at the face of my venerable friend, and the lid was nailed down. We bore him to his last resting-place, as the shades of night were gathering around us. Mr. Mellowtone was to make a prayer at the grave, and had knelt upon the ground for that purpose, when we heard the wild yell of the savages on the border of the forest.
CHAPTER VII.
IN WHICH PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS GUARD THE CASTLE.