"
"Pretty fair, pretty fair, I guess," replied stout Tom, "I harnt been
there myself though, but Jem was down with the hounds arter an old fox
t'other day, and sure enough he said the cock kept flopping up quite
thick afore him; but then the critter will lie, Harry; he will lie like
thunder, you know; but somehow I concaits there be cock there too; and
then, as I was saying, we'll stop at the great spring and get a bite of
summat, and then beat Hellhole; you'll have sport there for sartin! What
dogs have you got with you, Harry?"
"Your old friends, Shot and Chase, and a couple of spaniels for thick
covert!"
"Now, gentlemen, your suppers are all ready."
"Come, Tom," cried Archer; "you must take a bite with us--Tim, bring us
in three bottles of champagne, and lots of ice, do you hear?"
And the next moment we found ourselves installed in a snug parlor,
decorated with a dozen sporting prints, a blazing hickory fire snapping
and spluttering and roaring in a huge Franklin stove; our luggage safely
stowed in various corners, and Archer's double gun-case propped on two
chairs below the window.
An old-fashioned round table, covered with clean white linen of domestic
manufacture, displayed the noble round of beef which we had brought up
with us, flanked by a platter of magnificent potatoes, pouring forth
volumes of dense steam through the cracks in their dusky skins; a lordly
dish of butter, that might have pleased the appetite of Sisera; while
eggs and ham, and pies of apple, mince-meat, cranberry, and custard,
occupied every vacant space, save where two ponderous pitchers, mantling
with ale and cider, and two respectable square bottles, labelled "Old
Rum" and "Brandy-1817," relieved the prospect.
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