"London porter, for a hundred dollars," answered Billy. "That fellow knows what good living is. Oh, he's as cute as a sea-gull, and I see how he has set to work, He has somehow got up some London porter, and finding victuals and drink rather scarce in this great city, and good friends plenty, who would help him through it, he has gone and hid it down there, in the corner under the sand, to come down and drink his own health when nobody is by. There are more bottles there. You had better go and get a bottle. London porter is meat and drink too." I declined, however, helping myself from another man's store without his permission; but Billy Byles only laughed at my scruples, and we returned into the heart of the village. There he introduced me into what he called his dog-hole, which was a neat little room enough, in a neat little house, belonging to a free mulatto and his wife--quadroons, I suppose I ought to call them, for the portion of dark blood seemed to be very small. They were all attention, and even affection, towards Mr. Byles, who informed me that they had been slaves of his father, but were made free at his death. The old man hurried to get a couple of glasses as soon as Billy exhibited the porter bottles; and while he was gone, my companion fell into an unwonted reverie, which was explained as soon as his coloured friend returned. "Jacobus," he said, "there's something I want you to do for me, and you must do it cleverly--here, cut this wire over the cork. You know Miss Davenport, don't you; Miss Bessy Davenport?--there, take that fork, thrust it through the wire, and twist it round--well, she escaped from Mr. Stringer's house with this gentleman, my friend Sir Richard Conway; but somehow she got lost in the woods about six or seven o'clock this evening. Now, I want you--cut the string, there's a knife--now, I want you to go out and inquire everywhere, and of everybody--d----n it, you'll let all the porter jump out of the bottle. Pour it out quick into the two glasses. Sir Richard, your health.--You see, Jacobus, we must, and will find out, this very night, what has become of Miss Davenport, and you know quite well that every piece of news throughout the whole country gets tossed about from hand to hand amongst your people just like a ball amongst a pack of children; so you must go and find out if there's anybody in the whole place who can tell you where she is. Ask the people as if it were a great secret, promise them to tell nobody, and then come and tell us." "I'll do my best, Master Billy," said the old man; "but you know there's been such confusion these last two days, that we are all straggled, and nobody has had any time to find out anything. You say she was lost about six or seven this evening?" Mr. Byles added all the information that was necessary, and his envoy departed, somewhat proud, I imagine, of his commission.