umble, aint he?" responded the fat chap, with a
lamentable attempt at an ironical smile, put on to hide his real
chagrin.

"In course he is," replied Frank, who had recovered his wonted
equanimity, and who, having been most unmercifully rallied by the whole
party for leaving his bullets at home, was glad of an opportunity to
carry the war into the enemy's country, "in course he is a great deal
better--if a thing can be said to be better which, under all
circumstances, is so infernally bad, as that brute. I should think he
was better for it. Why, by the time he's had half a dozen more such
purls, he'll leap a six foot fence without shaking a loose rail. In
fact, I'll bet a dollar I carry him back over that same wall without
touching a stone." And, as he spoke, he set his foot into the stirrup,
as if he were about to put his threat into immediate execution.

"Quit, Forester--quit, I say--quit, now--consarn the hide on you"--
shouted the fat man, now in great tribulation, and apprehending a second
edition of the tumble--"quit foolin', or by h--l I'll put a grist of
shot, or one of they green cartridges into you stret away--I will, by
the Etarnal!" and as he spoke he dropped the muzzle of his gun, and put
his thumb upon the cock.

"I say quit foolin', too," cried Harry, "both of you quit it; you old
fool, Tom, do you really suppose he is mad enough to ride that brute of
yours again at the wall?"

"Mad enough!--Yes, I swon he be," responded Tom; "both of you be as mad
as the hull Asylum down to York. If Frank arn't mad, then there aint
such a word as mad!" But as he spoke he replaced his gun under his arm,
and walked off to his horse, which he mounted, without farther words,
his example being followed by the whole party, who set off on the spur,
and reached the village in less than half an hour.

Breakfast was on the table when they got there--black tea, produced from
Harry's magazine of stores, rich cream, hot bread, and Goshen butter--
eggs in abundance, boiled, roasted, fried with ham--an omelet au fines
herbes, no inconsiderable token of Tim's culinary skill--a cold round of
spiced beef, and last, not least, a dish of wood-duck hot from the
gridiron.

"By George," said Harry, "here's a feast for an epicure, and I can find
the appetite."

"Find it"--said Forester, grinning, who, pretending to eat nothing, or
next to nothing, and not to care what was set before him, was really the
greatest gourmet and heaviest fee