"It is quite correct, my dear friend," began the corporal, in a bantering tone, "and quite in the terms of the Billeting Act, which extends to all inns, livery stables, and houses of persons selling brandy, strong waters, cider and metheglin, whatever the devil that may be." And then, laughing merrily, they rode straight into the stable-yard, where they unsaddled, stalled and groomed their horses with soldierlike rapidity, and taking care to stand by while each had its feed of corn, for they knew too much of the world to trust to an ostler's nice sense of honour. Then we repaired to the bar of the inn, where the entrance of a couple of dashing dragoons in braided uniforms and high bearskin caps, with all their accoutrements rattling about them, created somewhat of a sensation. The rosy-cheeked barmaid smiled with pleasure, the plump landlady curtsied twice, even the ungracious host pushed forward a couple of chairs--I was permitted to find one for myself--and several bumpkins took their long clay pipes from their mouths, and gazed with admiration, for the appearance of two scarlet coats in this peaceful quarter of Great Britain was quite an epoch in its history. "Bustle, landlady, if you please," said the corporal, "and get us something to eat by way of supper." "Supper for three," added the private, with a quick glance at me; "nay, no refusal, my lad," he added, interrupting some apology I was about to make, with an empty purse, an aching heart, and a burning cheek; "many a time I have known the pleasure of supping, yea, and dining too, at a friend's expense." These dragoons were men who had an air, bearing, and tone far above their subordinate rank in the service, and there was a mystery about this that could not fail to interest me. They were both bold and handsome fellows, with eyes that looked steadily at men, and saucily at women; slashing troopers, with long strides, huge spurs, and steel scabbards that made a terrible jingling. The corporal pinched the landlady's chin, and then gave the landlord a slap on the back which nearly made him swallow a foot-length of his clay pipe, as they seated themselves. "For shame!" said the barmaid, as our enterprising non-commissioned officer slipped an arm round her waist; "I fear you are a very bad fellow." "I would rather be that than a sad fellow," said he; "but get us supper quick, my pretty one; we have had a long ride on a cold February day; but pray don't make a fuss, my dear--for me at least; I have long been used to take the world as it comes." The landlord, who had not yet digested his mouthful of pipe, grumbled, as if to say that "private soldiers were not the kind of quests they were used to make a fuss about;" but he dared not speak aloud, for the aspect of his two unexpected visitors rather awed him, and the female portion of the household were all in their favour.