"No, I'm not angry with you, Ned--I am not angry with anybody; but
just now, I would rather not hear the fiddle. Put it up."

"There!" said the other good-naturedly, as he placed the favorite
instrument in its immemorial case in the corner. "There; and now
Bill, untie the pack, and let's see the sort of wolf-cubs you've
got to carry; for there's no two horns to a wild bull, if something
hasn't gored you to-night."

"You're mistaken, Ned--quite mistaken--quite!"

"Deuse a bit! I know you too well, Bill Hinkley, so it's no use
to hush up now. Out with it, and don't be sparing, and if there's
any harm to come, I'm here, just as ready to risk a cracked crown
for you, as if the trouble was my own. I'd rather fiddle than fight,
it's true; but when there's any need for it, you know I can do one
just as well as the other; and can go to it with just as much good
humor. So show us the quarrel."

"There's no quarrel. Ned," said the other, softened by the frank
and ready feeling which his companion showed; "but I'm very foolish
in some things, and don't know how it is. I'm not apt to take
dislikes, but there's a man come to our house with John Cross, this
evening, that I somehow dislike very much."

"A man! What's he like? Anything like Joe Richards? That was a
fellow that I hated mightily. I never longed to lick any man but Joe
Richards, and him I longed to lick three times, though you know I
never got at him more than twice. It's a great pity he got drowned,
for I owe him a third licking, and don't feel altogether right,