And
one of these tales will I now venture to record, though it will sound
but weak and feeble from my lips, if compared to the rich, racy, quaint
and humorous thing it was, when flowing from the nature-gifted tongue of
our old friend Tom Draw."
"Hear! hear!" cried Frank, "the chap is eloquent!"
"It was the middle of the winter 1832--which was, as you will recollect,
of most unusual severity--that I had gone up to Tom Draw's, with a view
merely to quail shooting, though I had taken up, as usual, my rifle,
hoping perhaps to get a chance shot at a deer. The very first night I
arrived, the old bar-room was full of farmers, talking all very eagerly
about the ravages which had been wrought among their flocks by a small
pack of wolves, five or six, as they said, in number, headed by an old
gaunt famished brute, which had for many years been known through the
whole region, by the loss of one hind foot, which had been cut off in a
steel trap.
"More than a hundred sheep had been destroyed during the winter, and
several calves beside; and what had stirred especially the bile of the
good yeomen, was that, with more than customary boldness, they had the
previous night made a descent into the precincts of the village, and
carried off a fat wether of Tom Draw's.
Pages:
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217