"I can't abear my meat overdone," said the third. "What I say is, let them that likes to wait, wait, and let them that wants to begin, begin." So saying, he rose, and was about to attack the ribs of the porker with his knife. "Do stop a minute--that's a dear," said Mrs Bags; "another bundle of cinnament will make it parfect. I'll give ye something to stay your stomach;" and stepping to a nook in the wall of the cavern, where stood a large barrel, she filled a pewter measure, and handed it to the impatient advocate for underdone pork, who took a considerable dram, and passed it to his companions. "Cinnament's better with pork nor with most things," said Bags. "It spoils goose, because it don't agree with the inions, and it makes fowls wishy-washy; but it goes excellent with pig." "What's left in the larder?" asked one of the party. "There's a week's good eating yet," said Mrs Bags, "and we _might_ make it do ten days or a fortnight." "Well!" said the other, "they may say what they like about sieges, but this is the jolliest time ever _I_ had." "It's very well by day," said Bags, "but the nights is cold, and the company of that ghost ain't agreeable--I see'd it again last night." "Ah!" said his friend, "what was it like, Tongs?" "Something white," returned Bags in an awful whisper, "with a ghost's eyes. You may allays know a ghost by the eyes. I was just rising up, and thinking about getting a drink, for my coppers was hot, when it comes gliding up from that end of the cave. I spoke to you, and then I couldn't see it no more, because it was varnished." "Ghosts always varnishes if you speak," said Mrs Bags. "But never mind the spirit now--let's look after the flesh," added the lady, who possessed a fund of native pleasantry: "the pig's done to a turn." At this interesting juncture, and just as they were about to fall to, the footsteps of the approaching mules struck on their ears. Owen went to meet the party, and hastily selecting six men from it, advanced, and desired them to secure the astounded convivialists.