“And I minded the loss of the furs a sight less than I minded losing that moose-head,” continued Herb, taking his perch again upon the “deacon’s seat.” “The hound took ’em all. Every woodsman in Maine was riled about it at the time, and turned out to ketch him; but he gave ’em the slip. Now, boys, I’ve got to feeling pretty chummy with you. Cyrus is an old friend; and, to speak plain, I like you Britishers. I don’t want you to think that I bust up your fun to-night for nothing. I’ll tell you the whole yarn if you want to hear it.”