“Why, ‘Liza Jane’s come, bag an’ baggage, to spend the winter with her mother,” exclaimed Isaac Brown, springing to his feet like a boy.  “I’ve had it in mind to tell you two or three times this afternoon, and then something else has flown it out of my head.  I let my John Henry take the long-tailed wagon an’ go down to the depot this mornin’ to fetch her an’ her goods up.  The old lady come in early, while we were to breakfast, and to hear her lofty talk you’d thought ‘t would taken a couple o’ four-horse teams to move her.  I told John Henry he might take that wagon and fetch up what light stuff he could, and see how much else there was, an’ then I’d make further arrangements.  She said ’Liza Jane’d see me well satisfied, an’ rode off, pleased to death.  I see ’em returnin’ about eight, after the train was in.  They’d got ’Liza Jane with ’em, smaller’n ever; and there was a trunk tied up with a rope, and a small roll o’ beddin’ and braided mats, and a quilted rockin’-chair.  The old lady was holdin’ on tight to a bird-cage with nothin’ in it.  Yes; an’ I see the dog, too, in behind.  He appeared kind of timid.  He’s a yaller dog, but he ain’t stump-tailed.  They hauled up out front o’ the house, and mother an’ I went right out; Mis’ Price always expects to have notice taken.  She was in great sperits.  Said ’Liza Jane concluded to sell off most of her stuff rather ’n have the care of it.  She’d told the folks that Mis’ Topliff had a beautiful sofa and a lot o’ nice chairs, and two framed pictures that would fix up the house complete, and invited us all to come over and see ’em.  There, she seemed just as pleased returnin’ with the bird-cage.  Disappointments don’t appear to trouble her no more than a butterfly.  I kind of like the old creator’; I don’t mean to see her want.”

“They’ll let us have the dog,” said John York.  “I don’t know but I’ll give a quarter for him, and we’ll let ’em have a good piece o’ the coon.”

“You really comin’ ’way up here by night, coon-huntin’?” asked Isaac Brown, looking reproachfully at his more agile comrade.

“I be,” answered John York.

“I was dre’tful afraid you was only talking, and might back out,” returned the cheerful heavy-weight, with a chuckle.  “Now we’ve got things all fixed, I feel more like it than ever.  I tell you there’s just boy enough left inside of me.  I’ll clean up my old gun to-morrow mornin’, and you look right after your’n.  I dare say the boys have took good care of ’em for us, but they don’t know what we do about huntin’, and we’ll bring ’em all along and show ’em a little fun.”

“All right,” said John York, as soberly as if they were going to look after a piece of business for the town; and they gathered up the axe and other light possessions, and started toward home.

III

The two friends, whether by accident or design, came out of the woods some distance from their own houses, but very near to the low-storied little gray dwelling of Mrs. Price.  They crossed the pasture, and climbed over the toppling fence at the foot of her small sandy piece of land, and knocked at the door.  There was a light already in the kitchen.  Mrs. Price and Eliza Jane Topliff appeared at once, eagerly hospitable.