The storm was wild enough, but of short duration, and it came to its end as suddenly as it had begun. As the black cloud departed from the sky, the darkness, which had been almost a solid inside the still-house, was pierced by certain lines of mild light coming through various chinks in the walls and roof. Our friends examined one another , as if to be sure that it was not all a dream.  
Cattleton found himself face to face with a demure-looking young man, whom he at once recognized as Punner, a writer of delicious verses and editor of a rollicking humorous journal at New York.
 
“Hello, Hal! you here?” he cried. “Well how does it strike your funny bone? It insists upon appearing serious to me.”
 
“I’m for a whiff of fresh air,” said Punner, in a very matter-of-fact tone. “Can’t we raise a window or something?”
 
“The only window visible to the naked eye,” said Cattleton, “is already raised higher than I[112] can reach,” and he to a square hole in the wall about seven and a-half feet above the ground and very near the roof.
 
Crane went about in the room remarking that the floating in the air was the of the very purest and richest copper-distilled corn whisky and that if he could find it he was quite sure that a of it would prove very under the circumstances of the case, an observation which called from Mrs. Nancy Jones Black a temperance reprimand.
 
“As the presiding officer of the Woman’s Society I cannot let such a remark pass without it. If this really is a liquor establishment I desire to be let out of it forthwith.”
 
“So do I!” exclaimed little Mrs. Philpot with great . “Open the door Mr. Hubbard, please.”
 
Hubbard went to the door and finding that it was constructed to open outwardly, gave it a shove with all his might. There was a short and he staggered back.
 
“Why don’t you push it open?” fretfully exclaimed Mrs. Nancy Jones Black.
 
“The gentlemen outside object, for reasons not stated,” was the rather spoken answer.
 
Cattleton had taken off his hat and was going about through the company handkerchiefs.
 
 
“drop them in, drop them in,” he urged, “I need all of them that I can get.”
 
He offered his hat as a contribution box as he , and nearly every-one gave a handkerchief, without in the least suspecting his purpose.
 
When he had collected a round dozen, Cattleton them all down in the crown of his hat which he then put on his head.
 
“Now Hal,” he said, addressing Punner, “give me a boost and I’ll make an observation through that window.”
 
The rain was now ended and the wind had fallen still.
 
With Punner’s help Cattleton got up to the window and out his head.
 
“Git back ther’!” a vicious voice, and at the same time the dull sound of a heavy blow was followed by the retreat of Cattleton from the window to the floor in a great hurry.
 
Upon top of his hat was a deep made by a club.
 
“The handkerchiefs did their duty nobly,” he remarked. “Let everybody come forward and identify his property.”
 
“What did you see?” asked Punner.
 
“A giant with an oak tree in his hand and murder in his eye,” said Cattleton, busily selecting and returning the handkerchiefs. “This eleemosynary padding was all that saved me. The blow was aimed at my divine intellect.”
 
“See here,” cried Peck, in great earnest, “this is no joking matter. We’re in the power of a set of mountain moonshiners, and may be murdered in cold blood. We’d better do something.”
 
Crane had prowled around until he had found a small of mountain dew whisky, which he was to taste in true Kentucky style, when a gaunt form rose in a corner of the room, and forward seized the jug and took it out of his hand.
 
“No ye don’t, sonny, no ye don’t! This yer mounting jew air not ever’body’s licker ’at wants it. Not by er half er mile at the littlest calc’lation!”
 
Miss Crabb made a note. Crane gazed pathetically at the fantastic old man before him, and brushed his handkerchief across his lips, as if from habit, as he managed to say:
 
“I meant no liberty, I assure you. That whisky is——”
 
“Overpowerin’,” interrupted the old man, taking a sip from the . “Yes, I don’t blame ye fur a wantin’ of it, but this yer licker air mine.”
 
“Up in Kentucky,” said Crane, “we are proud to offer——”
 
&ld............