Forrester was fleet of foot, and the village-doctor not far distant.  He was soon procured, and, prompt of practice, the hurts of Ralph Colleton were found to be easily medicable.  The wound was slight, the graze of a bullet only, cutting some smaller blood-vessels, and it was only from the loss of blood that insensibility had followed.  The moderate skill of our country-surgeon was quite equal to the case, and soon enabled him to put the mind of Mark Forrester, who was honestly and humanely anxious, at perfect rest on the subject of his unknown charge.  With the dressing of his wound, and the application of restoratives, the consciousness of the youth returned, and he was enabled to learn how he had been discovered, where he was, and to whom he was indebted for succor in the moment of his insensibility.

Ralph Colleton, of course, declared his gratitude in warm and proper terms; but, as enjoined by the physician, he was discouraged from all unnecessary speech.  But he was not denied to listen, and Forrester was communicative, as became his frank face and honest impulses.  The brief questions of Ralph obtained copious answers; and, for an hour, the woodman cheered the solitude of his chamber, by the narration of such matters as were most likely to interest his hearer, in respect to the new region where he was, perforce, kept a prisoner.  Of Chestatee, and the people thereof, their employment, and the resources of the neighborhood, Forrester gave a pretty correct account; though he remained prudently silent in regard to the probable parties to that adventure in which his hearer had received his hurt.

From speaking of these subjects, the transition was natural to the cause of uproar going on below stairs.  The sounds of the hubbub penetrated the chamber of the wounded man, and he expressed some curiosity in respect to it.  This was enough for the woodman, who had partially informed himself, by a free conversation with the wagoner who drove the vehicle which brought Ralph to the tavern.  He had caught up other details as he hurried to and fro, when he ran for the doctor.  He was thus prepared to satisfy the youth’s inquiry.

“Well, squire, did you ever see a live Yankee?”

The youth smiled, answering affirmatively.

“He’s a pedler, you know, and that means a chap what can wheedle the eyes out of your head, the soul out of your body, the gould out of your pocket, and give you nothing but brass, and tin, and copper, in the place of ’em.  Well, all the hubbub you hear is jest now about one of these same Yankee pedlers.  The regilators have caught the varmint—­one Jared Bunce, as he calls himself—­and a more cunning, rascally, presumptious critter don’t come out of all Connecticut.  He’s been a cheating and swindling all the old women round the country.  He’ll pay for it now, and no mistake.  The regilators caught him about three hours ago, and they’ve brought him here for judgment and trial.  They’ve got a jury setting on his vartues, and