“And what were you in the matter?”

“Oh, I wes the pore yeng Cuban thet could herdly speak Inglish.”

“I don’t think he can yet,” whispered Miss Carmichael to Coristine, who thought it an immense joke.

“So you made Squire Walker an informer against his will, Mr. Bangs,” said Carruthers.

“Yes; but it was complimentary, too.  We knew if there were any good cigars in the village, the Squire’s wes the best place to look for them.”

“You should have had me up for having smuggled goods in my possession,” said the complimented talker.

“No, no, Squire; you see you were the next thing to Queen’s evidence, and they always go scotfree.”

“A receiver and Queen’s evidence! and the miserable little Cuban!  Haw! haw! haw!”

That is the story of how Squire Walker was silenced.

After breakfast there were prayers, as usual, conducted by the two clergymen, and when they were over, the three J.P.’s, Doctor Halbert being one, assembled for consultation in the office.  Tom Rigby, the constable, reported himself to the magistrate’s court, and thereafter adjourned to the kitchen, there to hold converse with his brother veteran, Mr. Terry.  Tom was tall, and as straight as if he had swallowed a ramrod.  He gave the military salute with great precision and regularity.  He was a widower, and a frequent visitor in the Bridesdale servants’ quarters, whence it was commonly reported that he had an eye on Tryphena.  Sylvanus had heard of this, with the effect that he lost no opportunity of running down the trade of a soldier, and comparing it most unfavourably with the free, rollicking life of the heaving sea.  To hear Sylvanus speak, one would imagine that the Susan Thomas was annually in the habit of circumnavigating the globe.  The children’s breakfast was over, and they were all out in the garden picking certain permitted flowers, and presenting them to their favourites among the guests; but Mr. Terry had still remained, conversing with Mr. Hill, whose book-larnin’ was so voluminous that he made slow progress with his breakfast, having had his cold tea thrice removed by his eldest daughter and replaced with hot.  When Rigby entered and saluted, the veteran rose and returned the salute.  “Good morning, Sergeant Terry! was it company colour sergeant or on the staff you were, sir?”

“Lasht noight, Carporal Rigby, Oi was sargint-major for the firsht toime in my loife.  I wuz promawted loike.”

“That would be in the volunteer service, Sergeant-major.”

“Yiss; but we had a rale cornel in command that’s been through the Amerikin war, they till me.”

“Sergeant-major, there are no American soldiers.”

“Shure, an’ Oi’m thinkin’, corporal,” said the veteran, feeling a metaphorical thrid on the tail av his coat.  “Oi’m thinkin’ there’s some pretty foine foightin’s been done in Ameriky; Oi’ve sane it, carporal, wid my own two eyes.”