Jessie. Now you are jesting, Harry. Do I not owe my life to you?

Harry. Hush, hush! that is a forbidden subject, and all you owe to me has been paid with interest in the gift of your true, loving heart. (They pass off, r. Enter Capt. Bragg, c.)

Capt. Bragg. Well, I never—no, never. If Parson Broadnose himself, in full black, with all his theological prognostications to back him, had said to me, Capt. Bragg, did you ever? I should have fixed my penetrating eyes upon him, and answered boldly, No, never. Slighted, absolutely, undeniably, unquestionably slighted! I, Capt. Nathan Bragg, distinguished for my martial deportment, my profound knowledge, my ready wit, yes, every thing that adds a charm to merrymaking; I, ex-commander of that illustrious corps, the Lawless Rangers, that rivals the grandest European regiments in drill and parade,—slighted at a mean, contemptible little husking. Fact, by jingo! But I'm not to be slighted: I won't be slighted. I am here to testify my profound contempt for a slight. If John Maynard has a husking, and forgets to invite the grand central figure on such occasions, it is the duty of the grand central figure to overlook the little breach of etiquette, and appear to contribute to the happiness of its fellow townsmen. There is an air of gloom about this place, all owing to my absence. They're in to supper: I'll join them, to cheer the dull hearts and (going r.)— Hallo! guns, guns. (Takes up one.) There's a beauty. This reminds me of my warlike days at country muster, and the Lawless Rangers. Ah, those rangers! every man with a Roman nose, six feet high, and a dead shot: not a man would miss the dead eye at one hundred paces,—if he could help it. Ah! I can see 'em now as I gave the order: ready—aim—fire (raising gun and firing as he speaks.) Murder! the blasted thing was loaded. (Drops it, and staggers across stage to l., trembling. A fowl drops from r., at the shot. Enter r., Mr. Maynard, Stub, Harry, Jessie, Tom, and Mrs. Maynard.)

Maynard. Who fired that gun? Ah, Capt. Bragg, what's the matter?

Stub (taking up fowl). Dat ar poor ole rooster am a gone goose. Dat's what's de matter.

Harry (taking up gun). Captain, have you been meddling with my gun?

Mrs. Maynard. Of course he has: he's always meddling.

Capt. Mrs. Maynard, that's an absurd remark. It's all right: one of my surprises. You must know I wanted a rooster for to-morrow's dinner. I'm very fond of them: there's such a warlike taste about them. And we are a little short of roosters; my last one, being a little belligerent this morning, walked into Higgins's yard, and engaged in deadly combat: so deadly that Higgins's fowl was stretched a lifeless corse upon the ground: for Bragg's roosters always lick, always. But in spite of my earnest protest, despite the warlike maxim, Spoils to the victor belong, Higgins shot my rooster and nailed him to his barn door like a crow, and his crow was gone. Fact, by jingo.

Maynard. Yes: but what's that got to do with my rooster?

Capt. Well, I wanted a rooster: so says I to myself, Maynard's got plenty, he can spare one just as well as not; so I'm come to borrow one. Well, I found you had company, and not wishing to disturb you, and seeing a gun handy, I singled out my dinner roosting aloft there, raised the gun,—you know I'm a dead shot,—shut my eyes—

Tom. Shut your eyes! Is that one of your dead shot tactics?

Capt. Shut one eye, squinted, of course, that's what I said, and fired. The result of that shot is before you. If you will examine that fowl, you will find that he is shot clean through the neck.

Stub. He's shot all ober; looks jes for all de world like a huckleberry puddin'.

Maynard. Well, captain, I call this rather a cool proceeding.

Capt. Ah, you flatter me: but coolness is a characteristic of the Braggs. When I raised that company for the war, the Lawless Rangers, I said to those men, Be cool: don't let your ardor carry you too far.

Tom. Yours didn't run you into battle, did it, captain?

Capt. I couldn't run anywhere. Just when the call came for those men, after I had prepared them for battle, and longed to lead them to the field, rheumatism—in the legs too—blasted all my hopes, and left me behind. But my soul was with them, and, if they achieved distinction, they owed it all to my early teaching—to the Bragg they left behind. (Struts up stage.)

John Maynard (to Thornton). Ah! he's a sly old fox.

Thornton (tapping his head). A little wrong here.

Maynard. No, he's a cool, calculating man, but as vain as a peacock.

Capt. (coming down). Sorry I didn't know you had company. Wouldn't have intruded for the world.

Maynard. It's all right, captain. Join us: we were expecting you. (To Thornton.) I can say that truly, for he's always popping in where he's not wanted.

Capt. Ah! thank you. A-husking, I see. What's the yield?

Maynard. Excellent. My five-acre lot has given me two hundred bushels. That's what I call handsome.

Capt. Pooh! you should see my corn. There's nothing like Bragg's corn. My three-acre lot gave me three hundred bushels, and every other ear was a red one.

Chorus. Oh!

Capt. Fact, by jingo! (Nat and Kitty enter r., followed by huskers.)

Maynard. Come, boys, get ready for the dance.—Mother, you take the captain in to supper.

Mrs. Maynard. Come, captain, you must be hungry.

Capt. (coming to r.). Thank you, I could feed a bit. But don't stir: I can find the table; and, when I do find it, I shall do full justice to your fare, or I am no Bragg. (Exit r. Harry rolls back the big door, others put out lanterns. Moonlight streams upon the floor. Change footlights.)

Thornton (to Jessie). Miss Jessie, shall I have the honor of dancing with you?

Jessie. Thank you, Mr. Thornton. (Takes his arm, and they go up. Nat and Kitty come down c.)

Nat. Ah, Kitty, now for the dance. Of course you will open the ball with me.

Kitty (hanging on his arm, looks around, and nods to Tom; he comes down on the other side). Did I promise you a dance to-night, Mr.