The doctor stopped polishing his brow, and adjusted his old brown wig. Mr. Hewes dropped both his hands, and the group under the tree looked like school-boys caught robbing an orchard.
Nathaniel Frothingham cleared his throat nervously. "What are you doing here, and what have you been at?"
"We've been fighting," said William, promptly. "But we are good friends now, and we've smoked the pipe of peace; have we not, Carter?"
No one spoke, and again an awkward silence followed. At last the Doctor spoke. "A capital idea," he said. "Have you it with you?—ah, eh?—the pipe, I mean."
"No," said Carter. "It belonged to Adam Bent Knee, and it made us all most dreadful sick."
At this Mr. Wyeth laughed, and Mr. Hewes's pale face broadened into a smile.
"Now, I think me that a snuff-box might make an excellent substitute," said the Doctor, walking up to Mr. Hewes and extending a big horn-case.
Mr. Hewes took a pinch, and then with reluctance Uncle Nathan followed suit. Then pinches of the powdered tobacco were exchanged all round.
The Doctor broke out into a roaring sneeze. "Well, gentlemen, methinks the conference is over," he said, and started off with the case under his arm.
Mr. Hewes picked up another box much like it and went away into the woods. The gentlemen lifted their hats to one another, and the party broke up.