The stranger, on reaching the inn, had not long to wait for dinner, which, to his disappointment, was anything but what he had been taught to expect. The fair “waiter” had led his imagination a very ludicrous dance, indeed, having, as Shakspeare says, kept the word of promise to his ear, but broken it to his hope, and, what was still worse, to his appetite. On sitting down, he found before him two excellent salt herrings to begin with; and on ringing the bell to inquire why he was provided with such a dainty, the male waiter himself, who had finished the field he had been ploughing, made his appearance, after a delay of about five minutes, very coolly wiping his mouth, for he had been at dinner. “Are you the waiter,” asked the stranger, sharply. “No, sir, I'm not the waiter, myself; but I and Peggy Moylan is.” “And why didn't you come when I rang for you at first?” “I was just finishin' my dinner, sir,” replied the other, pulling a bone of a herring from between his teeth, then going over and deliberately throwing it into the fire. The stranger was silent with astonishment, and, in truth, felt a stronger inclination to laugh than to scold him. This fellow, thought he, is clearly an original; I must draw him out a little. “Why, sir,” he proceeded, “was I served with a pair of d--d salt herrings, as a part of my dinner?” “Whist, sir,” replied the fellow, “don't curse anything that God--blessed be his name--has made; it's not right, it's sinful.” “But why was I served with two salt herrings, I ask again?” “Why wor you sarved with them?--Why, wasn't it what we had ourselves?” “Was I not promised venison?” “Who promised it to you?” “That female waiter of yours.” “Peggy Moylan? Well, then, I tell you the fau't wasn't hers. We had a party o' gintlemen out here last week, and the sorra drop of it they left behind them. Devil a drop of venison there is in the house now. You're an Englishman, at any rate, sir, I think by your discourse?” “Was I not promised part of a fat buck from the demesne adjoining, and where is it? I thought I was to have fish, flesh, and fowl.” “Well, and haven't you fish.” replied the fellow. “What do you call them!” he added, pointing to the herrings; “an' as to a fat buck, faith, it isn't part of one, but a whole one you have. What do you call that.” He lifted an old battered tin cover, and discovered a rabbit, gathered up as if it were in the act of starting for its burrow. “You see, Peggy, sir, always keeps her word; for it was a buck rabbit she meant. Well, now, there's the fish and the flesh; and here,” he proceeded, uncovering another dish, “is the fowl.” [Illustration: PAGE 329-- A pair of enormous legs, with spurs on them] On lifting the cover, a pair of enormous legs, with spurs on them an inch and a half long, were projected at full length toward the guest, as if the old cock--for such it was--were determined to defend himself to the last.