“You are ever inclined to be severe,” said the other. “If you but saw the guise in which he is lying with his faithful dog, I think your heart would be moved to pity.”
“If I thought there was one spark of the heavenly principle of gratitude in his heart, even to his dog,” said she, “I would again renovate his frame to that image which he degraded; but I do not believe it.—Mere selfishness, because he cannot live without his dog.”
“Here is Philany’s rod,” answered the other, “go, and reconnoitre for yourself, and as you feel so act.”
She took the golden wand, and went away toward Eildon Hall; but her motion over the fields was like a thing sailing on the wind. The other glided away into the beechen grove, for there were voices heard approaching.
“Let us proceed to business, Goodman Fletcher,” said Gudgel. “I insist on seeing that fine animal properly slaughtered, blooded, and cut up, before I go away. I have a man who will do it in the nicest style you ever beheld.” The boar looked pitifully to Gudgel, and moaned so loud that Mumps fell a howling. “And I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” continued Gudgel; “we’ll have his kidneys roasted on a brander laid on the coals, and a stake cut from the inside of the shoulder.—How delicious they will be!—Pooh! I wish they were ready just now—But we’ll not be long—And we’ll have a bottle of your March beer to accompany them.—Eh? Your charge may well afford that, goodman—Eh?”
The boar made a most determined resistance; and it was not till after he was quite spent, and more hands had been procured, that he was dragged at last forcibly to the slaughter-house, and laid upon the killing-stool, with ropes tied round his legs; these they were afraid were scarcely strong enough, and at the request of the butcher, Pery lent her garters to strengthen the tie. Never was there a poor beast in such circumstances! He screamed so incessantly that he even made matters worse. His very heart was like to break when he saw Pery lend her garters to assist in binding him. Mumps was very sorry too; he whined and whimpered, and kissed his braying friend.
The noise became so rending to the ears, that all who were present retired for a little, until the monster should be silenced. The butcher came up with his bleeding-knife, in shape like an Andro Ferrara, and fully half as long—felt for the boar’s jugular vein, and then tried the edge and point of his knife against his nail—“He has a hide like the soal of a shoe,” said the butcher; “I must take care and sort him neatly.” And so saying he went round the corner of the house to give his knife a whet on the grinding-stone.
At that very instant the beautiful angelic nymph with the golden rod came into the court-yard at Eildon-Hall, and hearing the outrageous cries in the slaughter-house, she looked in as she was passing, that being the outermost house in the square. There she beheld the woful plight of the poor boar, and could not help smiling; but when she saw honest Mumps standing wagging his tail, with his cheek pressed to that of the struggling panting victim, and always now and then gently kissing him, her heart was melted with pity. The dog cast the most beseeching look at her as she approached, which when she saw her resolution was fixed. She gave the monster three strokes with her wand, at each of which he uttered a loud squeak; but when these were done, and some mystic words of powerful charm uttered, in half a quarter of a minute there lay—no bristly boar—but the identical Croudy the shepherd! in the same garb as when transformed at the Moss Thorn; only that his hands and feet were bound with straw ropes, strengthened and secured by the cruel Pery’s red garters.
“Bless me an’ my horn!” said Croudy, as he raised up his head from the spokes of the killing-stool; “I believe I’m turned mysel again!—I wad like to ken wha the bonny queen is that has done this; but I’m sair mistaen gin I didna see the queen o’ the fairies jink by the corner. I wonder gin the bloody hash will persist in killing me now. I’m fear’d Gudgel winna can pit aff wantin’ his pork steaks. May Saint Abednego be my shield, gin I didna think I fand my ears birstling on a brander!”
The butcher came back, singing to himself the following verse, to the tune of Tibby Fowler, which augured not well for Croudy.