“I was busy putting the room to rights, ma’am,” said Mary, her indignation only suffered to escape her in the wild proud flash of her eye.  “I can’t be in two places at once!”

“You must learn to be in three or four, if I please,” again bawled the domestic Hecate.  “Your time is mine; I have bought it, and I’ll take good care not to be cheated out of what’s my due.  Light up them candles.  Quick!  I hear the men whistling to their dogs.  They’ll be here directly.”

Away waddled the human biped, and Mary, with another heavy sigh, lighted the candles, and retreated into the bar-room.

The night was cold and damp, although it was but the first week in October.  The men were gathered about the fire, to dry their clothes and warm themselves.  The foremost of these was Godfrey Hurdlestone.  “Polly!” he shouted.  “Polly Mathews, bring me a glass of brandy, and mind you don’t take toll by the way.”

The men laughed.  “A little would do the girl good, and raise her spirits,” said old Strawberry.  “Never mind him, my dear.  He’s a stingy one.  Take a good sup.  Brandy’s good for every thing.  It’s good for the head-ache, and the tooth-ache, and the heart-ache.  That’s right, take it kindly.  It has put a little blood into your pale face already.”

“I wish it would put a little into her heart,” said Godfrey:  “she’s grown confoundedly dull of late.”

“Why, Master Godfrey, who’s fault is that, I should like to know?” said the old poacher.  “You drink all the wine out of the cask, and then kick and abuse it, because ’tis empty.  Now, before that girl came across you, she was as high-spirited a tom-boy as ever I seed.  She’d come here at the dead o’ night to fetch home her old dad, when she thought he’d been here long enough, and she’d a song and a jest for us all.  She could take her own part then, and not one of my fellows dared to say a crooked word to her.  I thought that she was the last girl in the world to be brought to sich a pass.”

“Hush,” said Godfrey; “what’s the use of ripping up old grievances?  Here comes Mathews with the game!”

“A poor night’s work,” said that ruffian, flinging down a sack upon the floor.  “Five hares, three brace of pheasants, and one partridge.  It was not worth venturing a trip across the herring pond for such a paltry prize.  Here, Poll! stow them away in the old place.  In two hours they’ll be upon their journey to Lunnon without the aid of wings.  Mind, girl, and keep a good look-out for the mail.”

“Tim will take them to the four cross ways,” said Mrs. Strawberry.  “I want Mary at home.  Why, boys, you have hardly earned your supper.”

“If it’s ready, let us have it upon trust, mother,” said Godfrey:  “this cold work in the plantations makes a fellow hungry.”

In a moment all was bustle and confusion:  the clatter of plates, and the clashing of knives and forks, mingled with blasphemous oaths and horrid jests, as the worthy crew sat down to partake of their evening meal.  Over all might be heard the shrill harsh voice of Mistress Strawberry, scolding, screaming, and ordering about in all directions.