“Why, no,” replied Sir Moses, moodily; “if that dom’d old Daddy Nevins hadn’t stuck his ugly old mug right in the way, we should have forced him over Willowsike Pastures, and doubled him up in no time, for we were close upon him; whereas the old infidel brought us to a check, aud we never could get upon terms with him again; but, come,” continued Sir Moses, wishing to cut short this part of the narrative, “let’s go into the house and get ourselves warmed, for the air’s cold, and I haven’t had a bite since breakfast.” “Ay, come in!” cried Cuddy, leading the way; “come in, and get Mr. Pringle a drop of brandy, for he’s eat something that’s disagreed with him.” “Eat something that’s disagreed with him. Sorry to hear that; what could it be?—what could it be?” asked Sir Moses, as the party now groped their way along the back passages. “Why, I blame the partridge-pie,” replied Cuddy, demurely. “Not a bit of it!” rejoined Sir Moses—“not a bit of it! eat some myself—eat some myself—will finish it now—will finish it now.” “We’ve saved you that trouble,” replied Cuddy, “for we finished it ourselves.” “The deuce you did!” exclaimed Sir Moses, adding, “and were _you_ sick?” “Squeamish,” replied Cuddy—“Squeamish; not so bad as Mr. Pringle.” “But bad enough to want some brandy, I suppose,” observed the Baronet, now entering the library. “Quite so,” said Cuddy—“quite.” “Why didn’t you get some?—why didn’t you get some?” asked the Baronet, moving towards the bell. “Because Bankhead has none out,” replied Mr. Cuddy, before Sir Moses rang. “None out!” retorted Sir Moses—“none out!—what! have you finished that too!” “Somebody has, it seems,” replied Cuddy, quite innocently. “Well, then, I’ll tell you what you must do—I’ll tell you what you must do,” continued the Baronet, lighting a little red taper, and feeling in his pocket for the keys—“you must go into the cellar yourself and get some—go into the cellar yourself and get some;” so saying, Sir Moses handed Cuddy the candle and keys, saying, “shelf above the left hand bin behind the door,” adding, “you know it—you know it.” “Better bring two when I’m there, hadn’t I?” asked Cuddy. “Well,” said Sir Moses, dryly, “I s’pose there’ll be no great harm if you do;” and away Cuddy went. “D-e-e-a-vil of a fellow to drink—d-e-e-a-vil of a fellow to drink,” drawled Sir Moses, listening to his receding footsteps along the passage. He then directed his blarney to Billy. “Oh dear, he was sorry to hear he’d been ill; what could it be? Lost a nice gallop, too—dom’d if he hadn’t. Couldn’t be the pie! Wondered he wasn’t down in the morning.” Then Billy explained that his horse was ill, and that prevented him.