"Please, sir, can't you manage to mount by the wheel, sir," answered his servant, and after some trouble the Captain did get in by the wheel, swearing much, and followed by his servant with the lantern. The dog then wanted to mount also, but, being fat and heavy couldn't manage it, so sat down and began to yelp. This caused a fresh outburst of swearing, and ultimately Francis had to get out again and hoist the dog in, as the brute would allow none of the people to touch him. Quiet and order being restored, Hawthorn stood forward, took the lantern from his servant's hand, and, raising it, proceeded very deliberately to survey the crowd before him. Most of their faces, and many of their names were well known to him; and he addressed some of those he knew with some characteristic greeting. The wounded men appeared to interest him specially, and it was ludicrous to hear him rate one fellow for being unable to protect his handsome face, and condole with another on the coming interview with his wife. He discovered the countenance of his own groom disfigured by a cut on the nose and a black eye, and he held the light over it, chuckling loudly, till the fellow fairly ducked under. "Ha, Silas, you thief," he said, "I have always told you that you would get punished some day for your vanity, and sure enough the dairymaid will marry the blacksmith in less than a month, if you show that face to her. Gad, you'll frighten my old mare out of her wits, too, with that diabolical figure-head of yours. You had better go home to your mother and get it mended." "By heavens," he exclaimed, again casting his light on another face, "there's poacher Dick. Were you in the fray, Dick, my boy? No, no, it cannot be; he's been mauling the gamekeepers, and has taken refuge amongst you lads, eh?" "No, no; he fought with us all square," was the answer, and the crowd laughed, and the Captain chuckled again and again. Suddenly laying down the lantern he shouted, "Three cheers for the victors of Ashbrook fight," a call instantly responded to amid great good humour and much laughter. "Three cheers for the Captain," called a voice in the crowd, and off went the huzzas again. "Drop that nonsense, will you, boys; drop it, I say," roared the Captain, and added as soon as he could make himself heard above the din, "what the devil are you cheering me for? I didn't help you to win the fight, did I?" "No, but you cheered us for it," answered a dozen voices together. "And that's more than any other squire in Warwickshire would 'a' done," cried young Wanless. "Is that you, Tom Wanless?" queried Hawthorn. "Yes, sir." "Then you are a damned fool, Tom, and know nothing about it. All Englishmen like to see pluck, don't they, you young rascal?" The ironical tone of this query was perceptible to all, and raised an answering laugh of irony, amid which Wanless shouted back--