“Halloa, Uncle Isaac!” shouted Joe from the house-top, “this ridge-pole won’t fit; you didn’t make it right.”

“Yes, I did. I never made a bad joint in my life.”

“Well, it won’t fit, anyhow. Master Hunt says ’twont.”

“O, if I could only get a little spirit to rub on it,” said Uncle Isaac, in great perplexity, “I’ll bet ’twould fit; but I’m sure I don’t know how I can get it on this island.”

“There’s some aboard the schooner,” said John Strout; and, as it was passed up the frame, Joe announced that the ridge-pole fitted first rate.

“Now, boys, the frame is up, and must be named. Who shall name it?”

“Seth Warren,” was the cry; “he got up the scrape.” Seth, all at once, became extremely diffident, and required as much urging as a distinguished man at Commencement dinner, but finally was prevailed upon, at a great sacrifice of his own feelings, to gratify his friends. With a bottle of rum in his right hand, and astride the ridge-pole, he gave vent to the following effusion:—

As he concluded, he dashed the bottle on the ridge-pole, and flung the neck high in the air. Seth was frequently interrupted with applause; but, when he finished, there was a complete storm of cheers.

“I call that the cap-sheaf,” said Uncle Isaac; “there’s some chaw to that; it’s raal sentimental; none of your low blackguard stuff, such as they generally have to raisin’s. I think we ought all join together, and get Squire Linscott, the town clark, to copy them are varses, and buy a gilded frame, and have ’em hung over Ben’s fireplace; then our grandchildren will know about it, for we haven’t done anything on this island we’re ashamed of, and don’t mean to.”

It was universally agreed that after such an effort a man must be thirsty; and a large pail of milk punch appeared from the schooner. Seth, as the poet of the day, received the first draught; then Uncle Isaac and Master Hunt, and so it went round.

“It is not near night yet,” said Seth, who was greatly pleased with his successful effort; “what do you say for boarding the roof and ends? there is such a swarm of us that we can do it in less than an hour.”

“I think we have done enough,” said Uncle Isaac; “but I’m in for it if you are.”

They accordingly boarded the roof and the ends.

“Now,” said Seth, “for some fun.”

The chips were all cleared out of the house, and the floor swept with spruce boughs; it made a noble hall; not a thing in it, and almost square. Uncle Isaac, rolling a log in front of the house, sat down to smoke, contemplating his workmanship with the greatest complacency. His thoughts were also occupied in preparing for the morrow. He was desirous of making the most of this godsend, but did not want the boys to feel that he and Ben were trying to get all they could out of them. They had come to work, but for a good time as well. This was the secret of his influence over the boys. He had not outlived his youthful feelings; knew theirs, and liked to frolic as well as they did. Knowing that Seth and Joe were leaders of the rest, and would do anything in reason for Ben, the wise old man determined to create a public sentiment, and then follow the leadings of it; so he took them aside, and told them this plan, of which they highly approved, and which Seth was to propose at the proper time, and Joe to advocate. Seats were now made along the walls; a great quantity of pitch knots were piled up on the foundation of the chimney, and set on fire. This made such a light, that the very heads of the nails in the floor were visible, while the smoke went out of the hole left in the roof for the chimney.