"Corporal!--Corporal!" cried Peter, retreating hastily from his seat as the brawny Traveller approached menacingly towards him--"You won't see the peace broken. Have a care, friend--have a care I'm clerk to the parish--clerk to the parish, Sir--and I'll indict you for sacrilege." The wooden features of Bunting relaxed into a sort of grin at the alarm of his friend. He puffed away, without making any reply; meanwhile the Traveller, taking advantage of Peter's hasty abandonment of his cathedrarian accommodation, seized the vacant chair, and drawing it yet closer to the table, flung himself upon it, and placing his hat on the table, wiped his brows with the air of a man about to make himself thoroughly at home. Peter Dealtry was assuredly a personage of peaceable disposition; but then he had the proper pride of a host and a clerk. His feeling were exceedingly wounded at this cavalier treatment--before the very eyes of his wife too--what an example! He thrust his hands deep into his breeches pockets, and strutting with a ferocious swagger towards the Traveller, he said:-- "Harkye, sirrah! This is not the way folks are treated in this country: and I'd have you to know, that I'm a man what has a brother a constable." "Well, Sir!" "Well, Sir, indeed! Well!--Sir, it's not well, by no manner of means; and if you don't pay for the ale you drank, and go quietly about your business, I'll have you put in the stocks for a vagrant." This, the most menacing speech Peter Dealtry was ever known to deliver, was uttered with so much spirit, that the Corporal, who had hitherto preserved silence--for he was too strict a disciplinarian to thrust himself unnecessarily into brawls,--turned approvingly round, and nodding as well as his stock would suffer him at the indignant Peter, he said: "Well done! 'fegs--you've a soul, man!--a soul fit for the forty- second! augh!--A soul above the inches of five feet two!" There was something bitter and sneering in the Traveller's aspect as he now, regarding Dealtry, repeated-- "Vagrant--humph! And pray what is a vagrant?" "What is a vagrant?" echoed Peter, a little puzzled. "Yes! answer me that." "Why, a vagrant is a man what wanders, and what has no money." "Truly," said the stranger smiling, but the smile by no means improved his physiognomy, "an excellent definition, but one which, I will convince you, does not apply to me." So saying, he drew from his pocket a handful of silver coins, and, throwing them on the table, added: "Come, let's have no more of this. You see I can pay for what I order; and now, do recollect that I am a weary and hungry man." No sooner did Peter behold the money, than a sudden placidity stole over his ruffled spirit:--nay, a certain benevolent commiseration for the fatigue and wants of the Traveller replaced at once, and as by a spell, the angry feelings that had previously roused him.