So they mounted their beasts and started. Joe went ahead, for his
animal was much better than the sorry nag which Mr. Bickford
bestrode. The latter walked along with an air of dejection, as if
life were a burden to him.

"If I had this critter at home, Joe, I'll tell you what I'd do with
him," said Mr. Bickford, after a pause.

"Well, what would you do with him?"

"I'd sell him to a sexton. He'd be a first-class animal to go to
funerals. No danger of his runnin' away with the hearse."

"You are not so hungry but you can joke, Joshua."

"It's no joke," returned Mr. Bickford. "If we don't raise a supply
of provisions soon, I shall have to attend my own funeral. My mind
keeps running on them johnny-cakes."

They rode on rather soberly, for the exercise and the fresh morning
air increased their appetites, which were keen when they started.

Mr. Bickford no longer felt like joking, and Joe at every step looked
anxiously around him, in the hope of espying relief.

On a sudden, Mr. Bickford rose in his Stirrups and exclaimed in a
tone of excitement:

"I see a cabin!"