“Weary and hungry,” said he; “why did not you say that before? That would have been quite enough for Peter Dealtry. Thank God! I am a man what can feel for my neighbours. I have bowels--yes, I have bowels. Weary and hungry!--you shall be served in an instant. I may be a little hasty or so, but I’m a good Christian at bottom--ask the Corporal. And what says the Psalmist, Psalm 147?-- ‘By Him, the beasts that loosely range With timely food are fed: He speaks the word--and what He wills Is done as soon as said.’” Animating his kindly emotions by this apt quotation, Peter turned to the house. The Corporal now broke silence: the sight of the money had not been without an effect upon him as well as the landlord. “Warm day, Sir:--your health. Oh! forgot you emptied jug--baugh! You said you were not now in his Majesty’s service: beg pardon--were you ever?” “Why, once I was; many years ago.” “Ah!--and what regiment? I was in the forty-second. Heard of the forty-second? Colonel’s name, Dysart; captain’s, Trotter; corporal’s, Bunting, at your service.” “I am much obliged by your confidence,” said the Traveller drily. “I dare say you have seen much service.” “Service! Ah! may well say that;--twenty-three years’ hard work: and not the better for it! A man that loves his country is ‘titled to a pension--that’s my mind!--but the world don’t smile upon corporals--augh!” Here Peter re-appeared with a fresh supply of the October, and an assurance that the cold meat would speedily follow. “I hope yourself and this gentleman will bear me company,” said the Traveller, passing the jug to the Corporal; and in a few moments, so well pleased grew the trio with each other, that the sound of their laughter came loud and frequent to the ears of the good housewife within. The traveller now seemed to the Corporal and mine host a right jolly, good-humoured fellow. Not, however, that he bore a fair share in the conversation--he rather promoted the hilarity of his new acquaintances than led it. He laughed heartily at Peter’s jests, and the Corporal’s repartees; and the latter, by degrees, assuming the usual sway he bore in the circle of the village, contrived, before the viands were on the table, to monopolize the whole conversation. The Traveller found in the repast a new excuse for silence. He ate with a most prodigious and most contagious appetite; and in a few seconds the knife and fork of the Corporal were as busily engaged as if he had only three minutes to spare between a march and a dinner. “This is a pretty, retired spot,” quoth the Traveller, as at length he finished his repast, and threw himself back on his chair--a very pretty spot. Whose neat old-fashioned house was that I passed on the green, with the gable-ends and the flower-plots in front? “Oh, the Squire’s,” answered Peter; “Squire Lester’s an excellent gentleman.”