"I'll warrant ye, now, the captain wouldn't tolerate such a crathure,
but he's sent him off to the woods, as ye may see, like a divil, as he
is! To think of such a thing's spakeing to the missus! Will I fight
him?--That will I, rather than he'll say an uncivil word to the likes
of her! He's claws they tell me, though he kapes them so well covered
in his fine brogues; divil burn me, but I'd grapple him by the toes."

Joel now saw how deep was Michael's delusion, and knowing it
_must_ soon be over, he determined to make a merit of necessity, by
letting his friend into the truth, thereby creating a confidence that
would open the way to a hundre'd future mischievous scenes.

"Claws!" he repeated, with an air of surprise--"And why do you think an
Injin has claws, Mike?"

"An Injin! D'ye call that miscoloured crathure an Injin Joel. Isn't it
one of yer yankee divils?"

"Out upon you, for an Irish ninny. Do you think the captain would
_board_ a devil! The fellow's a Tuscarora, and is as well known here
as the owner of the Hut himself. It's Saucy Nick."

"Yes, saucy Ould Nick--had it from his very mout' and even the divil
would hardly be such a blackguard as to lie about his own name. Och!
he's a roarer, sure enough; and then for the tusks you mintion, I
didn't see 'em, with my eyes; but the crathure has a mouth that might
hould a basket-full."

Joel now perceived that he must go more seriously to work to undeceive
his companion. Mike honestly believed he had met an American devil, and