"Here, father," he said.
"And what are you doing here at this hour of the night, pray ?" said the minister, angrily, turning toward him.
"I couldn't get home very well," replied Hughie.
"And why not, pray?
Don't begin any excuses with me, sir." Nothing annoyed the minister as an attempt to excuse ill-doing.
"I guess he would have been glad enough to have got home half an hour ago, sir," broke in Don, laughing.

"Look there." He pointed to the bear lying dead, with Nigger standing over him.
"The Lord save us!" said Long John Cameron, himself the greatest among the hunters of the county.

"What do you say?
And how did you get him?
Jee-ru-piter! he's a grand one." The old man, the minister, and Don walked about the bear in admiring procession.
"Yon's a terrible gash," said Long John, pointing to a gaping wound in the breast.

"Was that your Snider, Don ?" "Not a bit of it, father.

The bear's Hughie's.