"Not at all," insisted Steve, with a duplicate wave.  "I beg that you won't mention it. And now, if you would travel toward the house——" 

 "Certainly!" 

 And out we went into North Dakota's congealed envelope, with the smoke from the main-house chimney rising three hundred feet into the air, a snow-white column straight as a mast, Charley stalking majestically ahead, while we three floundered weakly behind him. 

 "Ain't he the corker?" gasped Oscar.  "When he gets to jumping sideways among those four-legged words he separates me from my good intentions." 

 "'With scorn and hoomiliation,'" quoted Steve, and stopped, overcome. 

 "'I tells you what's the matter and leaves you to figger it out for yourself,'" I added. Then Charley heard us. He turned and approached, an awful frown upon his brow. 

 "May I inquire what is the reason of this yere merriment?" he asked. The manner was that of a man who proposed to find out. It sat on Charley with so ludicrous a parody that we were further undone. Steve raised his hands in deprecation, and spoke in a muffled voice that broke at intervals. 

 "Can't I laugh in my own backyard, Charley?" he said.  "By the Lord Harry, I will laugh inside my stakes! No man shall prevent me. The Constitution of the United States, the Declaration of Independence, and the Continental Congress give me the right. Now what have you got to say?" 

 "I dunno but what you have me whipsawed there, Steve," replied Charley, scratching his head.  "Ef it's your right by the Constitootion, o' course I ain't goin' to object." 

 "Do either of you object?" demanded Steve of Oscar and me in his deepest bass. No, we didn't object; we fell down in the snow and crowed like chanticleer. 

 "Hunh!" snorted Charley.  "Hunh! Them boys hain't got brains in their heads at all—nothin' but doodle-bugs!" 

 "Well, Charley," continued Steve, "as you don't object, and they don't object, and I don't object, for God's sake let's have breakfast!" 

 "I'll go you, Steve," replied Charles seriously, and we entered the house uproarious. 

 There in the kitchen was Mrs. Steve and the "company," a pretty little bright-eyed thing, whose colour went and came at a word—more particularly if Oscar 

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