There had not been such a merry-making at the “Carved Lion” for many a day; this was attributable in the first place to the liberal supply of beer furnished by the farmer who had sold his wheat, and in the second by the presence of Peace, who fraternised with the rustics in a free and easy manner, which to them was quite charming.
Bricket knew pretty well when his customers had had enough, and he was, therefore, somewhat anxious for some of them to make a move.
Peace was asked to favour them with a little more music—a request he at once acceded to. When he had concluded the landlord touched him on the shoulder, and Peace followed him into the bar parlour.
“They’re a merry set of fellows,” said he, “but it’s almost time for them to give over for to-night.”
“Certainly,” returned our hero. “I’m quite of your opinion. We’ve had a very pleasant evening—let it now be brought to a conclusion.”
“They’ll never go away as long as they hear the fiddle going. I know ’em too well for that.”
“Then I wont play any more. Enough is as good as a feast; besides I’m tired, and shall be glad to get rest.
“I’ll go in and wish ’em good night, and then retire to my bedroom.”
“Don’t do so on my account.”
“No, but I shall upon my own.”