Hubby thought this strange talk; but he had not time to think much about it, for Bob seized him by the hand, and away they scampered together over two or three fields, and then entered a wood. And here Bob took from his pocket certain strange engines of wood and wire, and, showing Hubby the noose attached to each, planted them severally in little openings of bush or brake, while Hubby stared like one that was thunder-struck, for Bob only uttered one word—"Noose-larning!" and then, seizing Hubby by the arm, hurried him on again. At length, in the thickest part of the wood, Bob began to take up engines instead of putting them down—but, lo! there were dead hares attached to them. And now poor Hubby Dickinson saw of what kind of mettle the "miracle of mother-wit" was made, and, taking to his heels, he ran from the poacher with as much haste as if a legion of fiends were behind him. Did the poacher follow? Not he, indeed. He only burst into hysterics of laughter, and then went on with his business. And whither fled the antiquary? Indeed, he knew not; but, having emerged from the wood, he ran as long as the fumes of the strong malt-liquor in his brains permitted him to retain possession of the power of his feet; and, when they failed him, he fell souse into a ditch, which happened merely to contain mud instead of water, and remained there, insensible and asleep for the greater part of the time, till late in the afternoon. As luck would have it, the parson of Hambleton, who was an old antiquarian crony of Hubby's, took his afternoon walk in that direction, and, to his perfect amazement, found his erudite friend in the ditch. "Noose-larning!" roared out Hubby, and shook and shuddered, when the parson had poked him with his walking-stick until he waked him:—"Noose-larning!" he still uttered, beholding the poacher in the wood, in his bewildered condition. With much ado, Hubby was at length fully brought to the remembrance of what he was about, and being by that time perfectly sober,—but dreadfully cramped,—he clambered out of the ditch; and though sorely ashamed of his bedaubed condition, and much more of his doating folly, he accompanied his friend to the parsonage-house at Hambleton, and, after much entreaty, with all the simplicity of his soul, recounted all he could remember of the whole adventure, commencing with Gaffer Davy's visit and the present of the Roman spur. Oft was the hearty laugh of the plain Oakhamers raised at Hubby Dickinson's expense, during the remainder of his life; but the fine old fellow's adventure never lessened their esteem for him. He was never permitted to want, even when age had stiffened his limbs and almost totally closed his eyes and ears. Town and country were alike proud of the learning that he had possessed; and the villages, especially, believed that his like would never be seen in Rutland again, even to the day of judgment.