"Beer in, bark out," said Pistol-legs, sententiously. The Squire, hearing the noise, came across from the house; and at sight of him the two would-be combatants quieted down; when Augustus thrust a great double-handled mug between them, from which they had to drink in token of restored amity. "They won't know nothing about it to-morrow morning," said Augustus, as a man of experience, slightly unsteady on his own legs. "They'll forget all about it." "I thenks it be a-most time to go whoam," said Pistol-legs, rising with some difficulty. "Here, Dan'l!" to one of his numerous descendants. "Let I hould on by thee." It was abundantly evident that Pistol-legs was right; it was time to go home. Shortly afterwards the Squire returned again, and announced that the feast was over; when the assembly separated peacefully, after the wont of country folk, though for half an hour or more there came distant "Hurrays" and cheering as the groups went down the road. About two o'clock in the morning, Jabez the shepherd, with his dog Job at his feet, was found astride of a stile in the meadows. He had stuck close to the barrel all day, and was roaring, at the top of a voice accustomed to shout across half a mile of down, the veracious ballad of "Gaarge Ridler's Oven," of noted memory: "When I goes dead, as it med hap, Why, bury me under the good ale-tap! Wi' voulded arms thur let me lie, Cheek by jowl my dog and I!"