"Oh! I'll be Judge and Jury,"--answered Archer--"and you shall plead before me; and I'll make up my mind in the meantime!" "He's for me, any how,"--shouted Tom--"Darn it all, Harry, you knows you wouldn't own a pinter--no, not if it was gin you!" "I believe you are about right there, old fellow, so far as this country goes at least!"--said Archer--"different dogs for different soils and seasons--and, in my judgment, setters are far the best this side the Atlantic--but it is late now, and I can't stand chattering here--good night--you shall have as much dog-talk as you like to-morrow." THE OUTLYING STAG It was still pitch dark, although the skies were quite clear and cloudless, when Harry, Frank, and the Commodore re-assembled on the following morning, in Tom's best parlor, preparatory to the stag hunt which, as determined on the previous night, was to be their first sporting move in the valley. Early, however, as it was, Timothy had contrived to make a glorious fire upon the hearth, and to lay out a slight breakfast of biscuits, butter, and cold beef, flanked by a square case-bottle of Jamaica, and a huge jorum of boiled milk. Tom Draw had not yet made his appearance, but the sound of his ponderous tramp, mixed with strange oaths and loud vociferations, showed that he was on foot, and ready for the field. "I'll tell you what, Master A---," said Archer as he stood with his back to the fire, mixing some rum with sugar and cold water, previous to pouring the hot milk into it--"You'll be so cold in that light jacket on the stand this morning, that you'll never be able to hold your gun true, if you get a shot. It froze quite hard last night, and there's some wind, too, this morning." "That's very true," replied the Commodore, "but devil a thing have I got else to wear, unless I put on my great coat, and that's too much the other way--too big and clumsy altogether. I shall do well enough, I dare say; and after all, my drilling jacket is not much thinner than your fustian."