“Let’s have it, Hodge.”
“Well,” said Hodge, rising in his chair, glass in hand, whose shadow the young stranger could see reflected on the parlour blind; “well, lads and lasses all, here’s long life and good luck to our good, kind old master, Farmer Bertram! his health with three times three.”
The toast was responded to with a boisterous “three times three,” which shook the glasses on the table till they jingled, and made the windows tremble again.
The young man, when he heard this toast proposed, rose from his seat, and, picking up his bundle and stick, walked hastily away, with downcast head.
He had not gone far along the beaten snow track in the middle of the road ere he turned his head, and saw the figure of a single horseman approaching at a hard gallop!
The horseman rode a splendid coal-black mare, which seemed to fly over the ground with wonderful grace and ease.
The rider, himself, was elegantly dressed, and muffled up to the chin in a stylish great-coat, while his three-cornered hat was drawn over his eyes, and shaded his features so much that no one could scarce see his face distinctly.
When he approached the “Black Bull,” he stopped for a minute, as if undecided whether he would dismount or not.
After a time, however, he put spurs to his horse once more, and soon overtook the youth with his stick and bundle, who was slowly and thoughtfully walking along.
“Bitter cold night, friend,” said the horseman, checking his steed into a slow walk.