“For our bedroom,” he said, “I’ve got six jolly fine mats made of skins. One’s a badger’s, an’ one’s a foxhound’s, an’ three be made out of a horse’s skin, an’ one’s that old collie as I used to have. There was a touch of Gordon setter in him; an’ a very pretty mat for your little feet he’ll make. An’ proud he’d be if he knowed it, poor old devil.” “They’ll do very nice if the moth don’t get in them,” said Minnie. Then, weary of sordid details, Dan let his girl take the whip and reins; and while she drove he cuddled her. CHAPTER III GUNS IN THE NIGHT Time sped swiftly for the young miner and his sweetheart, and Daniel told his friend Prowse, as a piece of extraordinary information, that he had killed nothing that ran, or swam, or flew, for the space of three weeks. Seeing that these innocent days formed part of the month of September, the greatness of the occasion may be judged. Every moment of the man’s leisure was spent at Hangman’s Hut; and once he took a whole holiday and went with Minnie to Plymouth, that he might spend ten pounds on furniture. He also purchased a ready-made suit of grey cloth spotted with yellow, which seemed well adapted for his wedding day. It proved too small in the back, but Daniel insisted on buying it, and Minnie promised to let out the shoulders. Then came the night before his wedding, and the young man looked round his new home and reflected that he would not enter it again until he came with a wife on his arm. Mrs Beer had proved of precious worth during these preparations, and now all was ready. Even the little evening meal that would greet Minnie on her arrival had been prepared. A cold tongue, a cold fowl, two big red lettuces from Johnny Beer’s garden, cakes, a bottle of pale ale, and other delicacies were laid in. Groceries and stores had been secured; and many small matters destined to surprise and delight the housewife were in their places; for, unknown to Minnie, Daniel had spent five pounds--the gift of his mother--and the money represented numerous useful household contrivances. It began to grow dusk when young Sweetland’s work was done. Then the ruling passion had play with him and an enterprise long since planned occupied his attention for the rest of his last bachelor night. It was now October. “A brace of pheasants would look mighty fine in Minnie’s larder,” thought Dan, “an’ there they shall be afore I go home to-night.” He had some vague idea of giving up his dishonest sport after marriage, but in his heart he knew that no such thing would happen.