His own explanation, given at the time, appeared lame and unsatisfactory.
It looks lamer now, as they sit smoking their pipes, more coolly and closely considering it.
While they are thus occupied, the wicket-gate, in front of the cottage, is heard turning upon its hinges, and two men are seen entering the enclosure.
As these draw near to the porch, where a tallow dip dimly burns, its light is reflected from the features of Simeon Woodley and Edward Heywood.
The hunters are both well-known to all upon the ground; and welcomed, as men likely to make a little less irksome that melancholy midnight watch.
If the new-comers cannot contribute cheerfulness, they may something else, as predicted by the expression observed upon their faces, at stepping into the porch. Their demeanour shows them possessed of some knowledge pertinent to the subject under discussion, as also important.
Going close to the candle, and summoning the rest around, Woodley draws from the ample pocket of his large, loose coat a bit of wood, bearing resemblance to a pine-apple, or turnip roughly peeled.
Holding it to the light, he says: “Come hyar, fellurs! fix yar eyes on this.”
All do as desired.
“Kin any o’ ye tell what it air?” the hunter asks.