“Well, I know’d he was near-sighted, was lawyer, and couldn’t see a pint clear of his nose, unless it was a pint o’ law. So I looks all round and there was his hoss, a-standin’ on the bridge, with his long tail hanging down straight at one eend, and his long neck and head a banging down straight at t’other eend, so that you couldn’t tell one from t’other or which eend was towards you. It was a clear cold mornin’. The storm was over and the wind down, and there was a frost on the ground. The critter was cold I suppose, and had broke the rope and walked off to stretch his legs. It was a monstrous mean night to be out in, that’s sartain.
“‘There is your hoss,’ sais I.
“‘Where?’ sais he.
“‘Why on the bridge,’ sais I; “he has got his head down and is a-lookin’ atween his fore-legs to see where his tail is, for he is so cold, I do suppose he can’t feel it.’
“Well, as soon as we could, we started; but afore we left, sais the Judge to me, ‘Mr. Slick,’ sais he, ‘here is a plaister,’ taking out a pound note, ‘a plaister for the skin the pig rubbed off of the old woman. Give it to her, I hope it is big enough to cover it.’ And he fell back on the bed, and larfed and coughed, and coughed and larfed, till the tears ran down his cheeks.
“Yes,” said Mr. Slick, “yes, Squire, this is a pretty cottage of Marm Hodgins; but we have cottages quite as pretty as this, our side of the water, arter all. They are not all like Obi Rafuses, the immigrant. The natives have different guess places, where you might eat off the floor a’most, all’s so clean. P’raps we hante the hedges, and flowers, and vines and fixin’s, and what-nots.”
“Which, alone,” I said, “make a most important difference. No, Mr. Slick’, there is nothing to be compared to this little cottage.
“I perfectly agree with you, Squire,” said Mr. Hopewell, “it is quite unique. There is not only nothing equal to it, but nothing of its kind at all like—an English cottage.”