"Though the bullet kept out, plenty of lead has got in, somehow or other," muttered Sir John Slingsby, as his fellow-magistrate tottered towards the door; but the baronet was not a bad-hearted man, and, taking compassion on Mr. Wittingham's state, he followed him with a large glass of Madeira, insisted upon his drinking it, and supported him under the right arm to the hall-door, where he delivered him over to the hands of the butler to put him safely into his carriage. While this was being effected, Sir John turned round and gazed upon the figure of Stephen Gimlet, and the two officers who had him in charge; and if his look was not peculiarly encouraging to the poacher, it certainly was much less so towards the constables. To say the truth, a constable was an animal, towards which, for some reason or another, Sir John Slingsby entertained a great dislike. It is not impossible that his old roving propensities, and sundry encounters with the particular kind of officer which was now under his thumb, had impressed him with a distaste for the whole species; but, assuredly, had he been called upon to give a Linæan description of the creature, it would have been: "A two-legged beast of the species hound, made to be beaten by blackguards and bullied by magistrates." Waving his hand, therefore, with an air of dignity, over his extended white waistcoat, he said,-- "Bring him in," and leading the way back to the dining-room, he seated himself in his great chair, supported on either side by decanters; and while the constables were entering, and taking up a position before him, he pushed a bottle either way, to Dr. Miles and Mr. Beauchamp, saying, in as solemn a tone as if he were delivering sentence of death, "A bumper, gentlemen, for a toast--now Master Leathersides, why do you bring this man before me?" "Why, please your worship's honour," replied the constable, "we apprehended him for poaching in the streets of Tarningham, and--" "Halloah!" cried Sir John, "poaching in the streets of Tarningham, that's a queer place to set springes. Leathersides, you're drunk." "No please your honour's worship, I arn't," whimpered the constable, who would at any time rather have been sent for a week to prison, than be brought up before Sir John Slingsby; "I said, as how we apprehended him in the streets of Tarningham, not as he was a-poaching there." "Then where was he poaching when you apprehended him?" demanded Sir John, half in fun, half in malice, and with a full determination of puzzling the constable. "Can't say he was poaching anywhere just then," replied Mr. Leathersides. "Then you'd no business to apprehend him," replied the baronet, "discharge the prisoner, and evacuate the room. Gentlemen, are you charged? The king, God bless him!" and he swallowed down his glass of wine, winking his eye to Beauchamp, at what he thought his good joke against the constables.