“Aha, Sappy, you got to go home; the straw says so.”

“I ain’t goin’ to believe no such foolishness.”

“It’s awful unlucky to go against it.”

“I don’t care, I ain’t goin’ back,” said Guy doggedly.

“Well, my straw says go to the house; that means go scouting for milk, I reckon.”

Yan’s straw pointed toward the garden, and Guy’s to the residence and grounds of “J.G.  Burns, Esq.”

“I don’t care,” said Sappy, “I ain’t goin’.  I am goin’ after some of them cherries in your orchard, an’ ’twon’t be the first time, neither.”

“We kin meet by the Basswood at the foot of the lane with whatever we get,” said the First War Chief, as he sneaked into the bushes and crawled through the snake fence and among the nettles and manure heaps on the north side of the barnyard till he reached the woodshed adjoining the house.  He knew where the men were, and he could guess where his mother was, but he was worried about the Dog.  Old Cap might be on the front doorstep, or he might be prowling at just the wrong place for the Injun plan.  The woodshed butted on the end of the kitchen.  The milk was kept in the cellar, and one window of the cellar opened into a dark corner of the woodshed.  This was easily raised, and Sam scrambled down into the cool damp cellar.  Long rows of milk pans were in sight on the shelves.  He lifted the cover of the one he knew to be the last put there and drank a deep, long draught with his mouth down to it, then licked the cream from his lips and remembered that he had come without a pail.  But he knew where to get one.  He went gently up the stairs, avoiding steps Nos. 1 and 7 because they were “creakers,” as he found out long ago, when he used to ‘hook’ maple sugar from the other side of the house.  The door at the top was closed and buttoned, but he put his jack-knife blade through the crack and turned the button.  After listening awhile and hearing no sound in the kitchen, he gently opened the squeaky old door.  There was no one to be seen but the baby, sound asleep in her cradle.  The outer door was open, but no Dog lying on the step as usual.  Over the kitchen was a garret entered by a trap-door and a ladder.  The ladder was up and the trap-door open, but all was still.  Sam stood over the baby, grunted, “Ugh, Paleface papoose,” raised his hand as if wielding a war club, aimed a deadly blow at the sleeping cherub, then stooped and kissed her rosy mouth so lightly that her pink fists went up to rub it at once.  He now went to the pantry, took a large pie and a tin pail, then down into the cellar again.  He, at first, merely closed the door behind him and was leaving it so, but remembered that Minnie might awaken and toddle around till she might toddle into the cellar, therefore he turned the button so that just a corner showed over the crack, closed the door and worked with his knife blade on that corner till the cellar was made as safe as before.  He now escaped with his pie and pail.