The sheriff, like his countrymen generally, was frank and outspoken; he talked freely of the new-settled country, its advantages and its difficulties, and at last, as the night closed in, he made another visit to his friend.
“All right, Seth,” said he, as he came back; “we shall be able to push on. Let them 'hitch' the nags as soon as may be, for we 've a long journey before us.”
“You're for the Lakes, I reckon?” said Seth, inquiringly.
“Farther than that.”
“Up to Saratoga and the Springs, maybe?”
“Farther still.”
“Well, you ain't a-goin' to New York at this time of year, sheriff?”
“That am I, and farther still, Seth; I am going to the old country, where I have n't been for more than thirty years, and where I never thought to go again.”
“You might visit worse lands, sir,” said old Layton, half resentfully.
“You mistook my meaning, stranger,” said the other, “if you thought my words reflected on England. There is only one land I love better.”