CHAPTER V.
A COMFORTABLE INN, AND A GOOD LANDLADY——THE MISFORTUNES OF HEROES DO NOT ALWAYS DESTROY THE APPETITE.
As soon as Butler landed from the skiff, he threw his cloak into the hands of the sergeant; then, with a disturbed haste, sprang upon his horse, and, commanding Robinson to follow, galloped along the road down the river as fast as the nature of the ground and the obscurity of the hour would allow. A brief space brought them to the spot where the road crossed the stream, immediately in the vicinity of the widow Dimock's little inn, which might here be discerned ensconced beneath the cover of the opposite hill. The low-browed wooden building, quietly stationed some thirty paces off the road, was so adumbrated in the shelter of a huge willow, that the journeyer, at such an hour as this, might perchance pass the spot unconsciously by, were it not for an insulated and somewhat haggard sign-post that, like a hospitable seeker of strangers, stood hard by the road side, and there displayed a shattered emblem in the guise of a large blue ball, a little decayed by wind and weather, which said Blue Ball, without superscription or device, was universally interpreted to mean "entertainment for man and horse, by the widow Dimock." The moonlight fell with a broad lustre upon the sign post and its pendent globe; and our travellers, besides, could descry, through the drapery of the willow, a window, of some rear building of the inn, richly illuminated by what, from the redness of the light, might be conjectured to be a bundle of blazing faggots.
As the horses had, immediately upon entering the ford, compelled their masters to a halt, whilst they thrust their noses into the water and drank with the greediness of a long and neglected thirst, it was with no equivocal self-gratulation that Robinson directed his eye to the presignifications of good cheer which were now before him. Butler had spoken "never a word," and the sergeant's habits of subordination, as well as an honest sympathy in what he guessed to be the griefs of his superior officer, had constrained him to a respectful silence. The sergeant, however, was full of thoughts which, more than once during the gallop from the Fawn's Tower, he was on the point of uttering by way of consolation to Butler, and which nothing prevented but that real delicacy of mind that lies at the bottom of a kind nature, and inhabits the shaggy breast of the rustic, at least full as often as it lodges in the heart of the trim worldling. The present halt, seemed, in Horse Shoe's reckoning, not only to furnish a pretext to speak, but, in some degree, to render it a duty; and, in truth, an additional very stimulating subject presented itself to our good squire, in his instantaneous conviction that the glare from the tavern window had its origin in some active operation which, at this late hour, might be going on at the kitchen chimney; to understand the full pungency of which consideration, it is necessary to inform my reader, that Robinson had, for some time past, been yielding himself to certain doubts, whether his friend and himself might not arrive at the inn at too late an hour to hope for much despatch in the preparation for supper. In this state of feeling, partly bent to cheer the spirits of Butler, and partly to express his satisfaction at the prospect of his own comfort, he broke forth in the following terms—
"God bless all widows that set themselves down by the road-side, is my worst wish! and, in particular, I pray for good luck to the widow Dimock, for an orderly sort of body, which I have no doubt she is; and keeps good hours—to judge by the shine of the kitchen fire which is blazing yonder in the rear—and which, to tell truth, major, I began to be afeard would be as dead, by this time o' night, as the day the hearth-stone was first laid. She desarves to be spoken of as a praiseworthy woman. And, moreover, I should say she has popped her house down in a most legible situation, touching our day's march, by which I mean it isn't one step too near a reasonable bed hour. I count it lucky, major, on your account; and although it isn't for me to give advice in woman affairs—for I know the creatures do try the grit and edge of a man amazingly sometimes—yet, if I mought say what was running in my head fit for a gentleman and an officer like you to do in such a tribulation, it would be this: drop thinking and chawing over your troubles, and take them with a light heart, as things that's not to be mended by a solemncolly long-facedness. A good victual's meal and a fair night's rest would make another man of you. That's my observation; and I remember once to hear you say the same yourself, upon occasion of your losing the baggage wagons last fall on the Beaufort convoy. You ha'n't forgot it, major?"
"Thank you, thank you, sergeant. Your counsel is kindly offered and wisely said, and I will follow it. But it is a little hard, fellow soldier," added Butler, with something like an approach to jocularity, "it's a little hard to have one's misfortunes cast in his teeth by a comrade."
"I thought it would make you laugh, major!" replied Robinson, with a good-natured solicitude, "for it wan't in the possibilities of a mortal earthly man to save the baggage; and, I remember, you laughed then, as well as the rest of us, when them pestifarious, filching sheep stealers made off with our dinners: nobody ever blamed you for it."
"Ah, Galbraith, you are a good friend, and you shall say what you please to me," said Butler, with a returning cheerfulness; "sorrow is a dull companion to him who feeds it, and an impertinent one to everybody beside. So, ride forward, and we will endeavor to console ourselves with the good cheer of the widow. And, hark, Galbraith, this Mistress Dimock is an especial friend of mine: pray you, let her see, by your considerateness towards her, that you are aware of that—for my sake, good Horse Shoe."