and let them pick about."

CHAPTER XVI.--THE NEW-COMER TAKES KINDLY TO THE DINGLE AND ITS OCCUPANTS,
ABOUT WHOM HE FORMS HIS OWN OPINIONS.

It might be about ten o'clock at night. Belle, the postillion, and
myself, sat just within the tent, by a fire of charcoal which I had
kindled in the chafing-pan. The man had removed the harness from his
horses, and, after tethering their legs, had left them for the night in
the field above, to regale themselves on what grass they could find. The
rain had long since entirely ceased, and the moon and stars shone bright
in the firmament, up to which, putting aside the canvas, I occasionally
looked from the depths of the dingle. Large drops of water, however,
falling now and then upon the tent from the neighbouring trees, would
have served, could we have forgotten it, to remind us of the recent
storm, and also a certain chilliness in the atmosphere, unusual to the
season, proceeding from the moisture with which the ground was saturated;
yet these circumstances only served to make our party enjoy the charcoal
fire the more. There we sat bending over it: Belle, with her long
beautiful hair streaming over her magnificent shoulders; the postillion
smoking his pipe, in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, having flung aside
his great coat, which had sustained a thorough wetting; and I without my
waggoner's slop, of which, it being in the same plight, I had also
divested myself.

The new-comer was a well-made fellow of about thirty with an open and
agreeable countenance. I found him very well informed for a man in his
station, and with some pretensions to humour. After we had discoursed
for some time on indifferent subjects, the postillion, who had exhausted
his pipe, took it from his mouth, and, knocking out the ashes upon the
ground, exclaimed: "I little thought, when I got up in the morning, that
I should spend the night in such agreeable company, and after such a
fright."

"Well," said I, "I am glad that your opinion of us has improved; it is
not long since you seemed to hold us in rather a suspicious light."

"And no wonder," said the man, "seeing the place you were taking me to. I
was not a little, but very much afraid of ye both; and so I continued for
some time, though, not to show a craven heart, I pretended to be quite
satisfied; but I see I was altogether mistaken about ye. I thought you
vagrant Gypsy folks and trampers; but now--"

"Vagrant Gypsy folks and tram