“Ho, ho!” ejaculated Trimbush. “That’s the secret of your attention, is it?”
“Who-whoop!” hallooed the man. “Who-whoop!” and throwing the dismembered carcase to us, we tore it into pieces and demolished, with more than ordinary relish, the devil’s own.
“Now, what am I to do with ye?” observed the rustic, scratching the back part of his head.
“Take us to the nearest best quarters,” said Trimbush; “give us a good supper, plenty of straw, and lead us home in the morning.”
“It’s a long distance,” soliloquized the man; “but I shall get well paid for my trouble, I know. It can’t be done to-night, howsomever; and so I’ll get farmer Oatfield to give grub and lodgings, and journey home with ye to-morrow myself.”
“A capital move,” said Trimbush, “and a sentiment after my own heart. Come along.”
Most willingly we followed our conductor from the cover, and after proceeding about a mile, we came to one of those nests of comforts, a good farm-house. As we entered the yard, two rough and shaggy shepherd’s dogs ran barking towards us; but upon coming closer, they wagged their short stumpy tails by way of a welcome, and soon afterwards we had a famous supper of warm milk and meal, supplied to us by the hospitable Mr. Oatfield, who heard with infinite glee the rustic’s account of the way in which he discovered us; and then, by his orders, some bundles of fresh straw were shaken out, upon which we stretched ourselves, with that pleasure which only the wearied feel.