t, that to have feathers
sticking here and there on thy head will embellish thee, and set thy
crown out rarely. None dare upbraid thee, that like a beggar thou hast
lain on straw, or like a travelling pedlar upon musty flocks; for those
feathers will rise up as witnesses to choke him that says so, and to
prove thy bed to have been of the softest down." Even so did those
feathers bear witness that the possessor of Rogues' Harbor Inn, on
Brent-Tor Down, whatever else he lacked, lacked not geese enough to keep
him in soft lying.

Presently he spies Amyas and his party coming slowly over the hill,
pricks up his ears, and counts them; sees Amyas's armor; shakes his head
and grunts; and then, being a man of few words, utters a sleepy howl--

"Mirooi!--Fushing pooale!"

A strapping lass--whose only covering (for country women at work in
those days dispensed with the ornament of a gown) is a green bodice and
red petticoat, neither of them over ample--brings out his fishing-rod
and basket, and the man, having tied up his hose with some ends of
string, examines the footlink.

"Don vlies' gone!"

"May be," says Mary; "shouldn't hay' left mun out to coort. May be old
hen's ate mun off. I see her chocking about a while agone."

The host receives this intelligence with an oath, and replies by a
violent blow at Mary's head, which she, accustomed to such slight
matters, dodges, and then returns the blow with good effect on the shock
head.

Whereon mine host, equally accustomed to such slight matters, quietly
shambles off, howling as he departs--

"Tell Patrico!"

Mary runs in, combs her hair, slips a pair of stockings and her best
gown over her dirt, and awaits the coming guests, who make a few long
faces at the "mucksy sort of a place," but prefer to spend the night
there than to bivouac close to the enemy's camp.

So the old hen who has swallowed the dun fly is killed, plucked, and
roasted, and certain "black Dartmoor mutton" is put on the gridiron, and
being compelled to confess the truth by that fiery torment, proclaims
itself to all noses as red-deer venison. In the meanwhile Amyas has put
his horse and the ponies into a shed, to which he can find neither
lock nor key, and therefore returns grumbling, not without fear for his
steed's safety. The baggage is heaped in a corner of the room, and Amyas
stretches his legs before a turf fire; while Yeo, who has his notions
about the place, posts himself at the door, and the