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The jar passed down along the line, until Tim finished its contents. "Now, then, for the camp of the Fenian army," cried Yates, taking Renmark's arm; and they began their march through the woods. "Great Caesar! Stilly," he continued to his friend, "this is rest and quiet with a vengeance, isn't it?"
"Don't put my name on the paper." "Oh, that's all right," said Yates. "Never mind him, general. He's a learned man who doesn't know when to talk and when not to. As you march up to our tent, general, you will see an empty jug, which will explain everything. Renmark's drunk, not to put too fine a point upon it; and he imagines himself a British subject."
So saying, the rider slipped from his horse, whipped out of his pocket a pair of handcuffs joined by a short, stout steel chain, and, leaving his horse standing, grasped Renmark's wrist. "I'm a Canadian," said the professor, wrenching his wrist away. "You mustn't put handcuffs on me." "You are in very bad company, then.
"Mr. Renmark's coming with me this trip, Mrs. Bartlett," young Howard said before the professor had time to reply; "but I'll come over and take tea, if you'll invite me, as soon as I have put the horse up." "You go along with your nonsense," she said; "I know you." Then in a lower voice she asked: "How is your mother, Henry and Margaret?" "They're pretty well, thanks."
Young Hiram gazed with growing admiration at Yates' deftness and evident knowledge of what he was about, while his contempt for the professor's futile struggle with a spade entangled in tree roots was hardly repressed. "Better give me that spade," he said at length; but there was an element of stubbornness in Renmark's character. He struggled on.
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