Warwick Woodlands | Page 8

me up
them groceries though, Archer; well, then, here's luck! What, Yorkshire,
is that you? I should ha' thought now, Archer, you'd have cleared that
lazy Injun out afore this time!"

"Whoy, measter Draa--what 'na loike's that kind o' talk? coom coom
now, where'll Ay tak t' things tull?"
"Put Mr. Forester's box in the bed-room off the parlor--mine up stairs,
as usual," cried Archer. "Look sharp and get the traps out. Now, Tom, I
suppose you have got no supper for us?"
"Cooper, Cooper! you snooping little devil," yelled Tom, addressing
his second hope, a fine dark-eyed, bright-looking lad of ten or twelve
years; "Don't you see Mr. Archer's come?--away with you and light the
parlor fire, look smart now, or I'll cure you! Supper--you're always eat!
eat! eat! or, drink! drink!--drunk! Yes! supper; we've got pork! and
chickens..."
"Oh! d--n your pork," said I, "salt as the ocean I suppose!"
"And double d--n your chickens," chimed in Harry, "old superannuated
cocks which must be caught now, and then beheaded, and then soused
into hot water to fetch off the feathers; and save you lazy devils the
trouble of picking them. No, no, Tom! get us some fresh meat for
to-morrow; and for to-night let us have some hot potatoes, and some
bread and butter, and we'll find beef; eh, Frank? and now look sharp,
for we must be up in good time tomorrow, and, to be so, we must to
bed betimes. And now, Tom, are there any cock?"
"Cock! yes, I guess there be, and quail, too, pretty plenty! quite a smart
chance of them, and not a shot fired among them this fall, any how!"
"Well, which way must we beat to-morrow? I calculate to shoot three
days with you here; and, on Wednesday night, when we get in, to hitch
up and drive into Sullivan, and see if we can't get a deer or two! You'll
go, Tom?"
"Well, well, we'll see any how; but for to-morrow, why, I guess we
must beat the 'Squire's swamp-hole first; there's ten or twelve cock
there, I know; I see them there myself last Sunday; and then acrost
them buck-wheat stubbles, and the big bog meadow, there's a drove of
quail there; two or three bevys got in one, I reckon; leastwise I counted

thirty-three last Friday was a week; and through Seer's big swamp, over
to the great spring!"
"How is Seer's swamp? too wet, I fancy," Archer interposed, "at least I
noticed, from the mountain, that all the leaves were changed in it, and
that the maples were quite bare."
"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.
Before we had sat down, Timothy entered, bearing a horse bucket filled
to the brim with ice, from whence protruded the long necks and split
corks of three champagne bottles.
"Now, Tim," said Archer, "get your own supper, when you've finished
with the cattle; feed the dogs well to-night; and then to bed. And hark
you, call me at five in the morning; we shall want you to carry the
game-bag and the drinkables; take