"Old man," cried Bill, now thoroughly alarmed, "the lid is lifting."
"Sartinly, sartinly," returned the Trapper. "It's lifted fully half an inch sence ye placed yer ladle to it, and it'll keep on liftin'. Rover knows what is comin' as well as I do, for the old dog, as ye see, begins to edge away, and Sport has started for the door already."
"What shall I do, John Norton? What shall I do? The lid is lifting again."
"Is yer ladle well placed, Bill? Have ye got it in the center of the lid?" returned the Trapper.
"Dead in the center, old man," responded Bill, confidently, "dead in the center."
"Put yer whole weight on it, then, and don't waste yer strength in talkin'. Ye know yer own strength, and I know the strength of Indian meal when hot water gits at it, and ef the ladle don't slip or the kettle-lid split it's about nip and tuck atween ye."
"Old man," yelled Bill, as he put his whole weight on the ladle handle, "this lid has lifted again. Get a stick and come here and help me."
"No, no, Bill," answered the Trapper, "the puddin' is of yer own mixin' and ye must attend to the job yerself. I stuck to yer box with a hole underneath me and a pig under the hole till somethin' happened and ye must stick to yer puddin'."
"But I can't hold it down, John Norton," yelled poor Bill. "The lid has lifted again and the whole darned thing is coming out of the pot."
"I conceit as much, I conceit as much," answered the Trapper. "There go the pups out of the door, Bill, and when the dogs quit the cabin it's time for the master to foller." And the old man started for the door.