“No, not by no means—only you proposed heaving him over the bridge: I will say that.”
“Friend Byres, it’s my opinion you’ll say anything but your prayers; but in your present state I overlook it. Let us go on, or I shall have two men to carry home instead of one. Come, now, take one of his arms, while I take the other, and raise him up. It is but a quarter of a mile to the cottage.”
Byres, who, as we observed, was by far the more sober of the two, did not think it worth his while to reply to the pedagogue. After a few staggers on the part of the latter, their comrade was raised up and led away between them.
The drunken man appeared to be so far aware of what was going on that he moved his legs mechanically, and in a short time they arrived at the cottage-door, which the pedagogue struck with his fist so as to make it rattle on its hinges. The door was opened by a tall, handsome woman, holding a candle in her hand.
“I thought so,” said she, shaking her head. “The old story: now he will be ill all night, and not get up till noon.”
“What a weary life it is with a drunken husband. Bring him and thank you kindly for your trouble.”
“It has been hard work and hot work,” observed the schoolmaster, sitting down in a chair, after they had placed their comrade on the bed.
“Indeed, and it must be,” replied the wife. “Will you have a drop of small beer, Mr Furness?”
“Yes, if you please, and so will Mr Byres, too. What a pity it is your good man will not keep to small beer.”
“Yes, indeed,” replied the wife, who went into the back premises, and soon returned with a quart mug of beer.