“Bring un out,” said Bumpkin; and accordingly a nice clean cloth was soon spread, and the table was groaning (as the saying is), with a large leg of pork and pease-pudding and home-made bread; to which Horatio did ample justice.
“Bain’t bad pooark,” said Bumpkin.
“Best I ever tasted,” replied Horatio; “we don’t get this sort of pork in London—pork there doesn’t seem like pork.”
“Now look at that,” said Joe; “I fed that air pig.”
“So ur did, Joe,” said the farmer; “I’ll gie thee credit, Joe, thee fed un well.”
“Ah!” said Joe; “and that air pig knowed I as well as I knows thee.”
When Horatio had supped, and the things were removed, Mr. Bumpkin assured the youth that a little drop of gin-and-water would not hurt him after his journey; and accordingly mixed him a tumbler. “Thee doan’t smoke, I spoase?” he said; to which Mrs. Bumpkin added that she “spoased he wur too young like.”
“I’ll try,” answered the courageous youth, nothing daunted by his youngness.
“So thee shall—dang if thee shan’t,” rejoined Mr. Bumpkin; and produced a long churchwarden pipe, and a big leaden jar of tobacco of a very dark character, called “shag.”
Horatio filled his pipe, and puffed away as if he had been a veteran smoker; cloud after cloud came forth,