he poor idiot
burst out crying and howling, and the ostler came forward, pulling his
forelock, and saying, "You'll not be hard on 'em, sir. 'Tis all sport.
There, Sammy, don't be afeared. Gentleman means you no harm."

Captain Carbonel held out some coppers, saying, "There, my poor lad,
there's something for you. Only don't let me hear bad words again."

Sam muttered something, and pulled his ragged hat forward as he shambled
off into some back settlements of the public-house, while the ostler
went on--

"'Tis just their game, sir! None of 'em would hurt poor Sam! They'd
treat him the next minute, sir. All in sport."

"Strange sport," said the captain, "to teach a poor helpless lad, who
ought to be as innocent as a babe, that abominable blasphemy."

"He don't mean nought, sir! All's one to he!"

"All the worse in those who do know better, I tell you; and you may tell
your master that, if this goes on, I shall certainly speak to the
magistrates."

There was no need to tell the landlord, Mr Oldfellow. The captain was
plainly enough to be heard through the window of the bar. The drovers
had no notion that their amusement was sinful, for "it didn't hurt no
one," and, in fact, "getting a rise" out of Softy Sam was one of the
great attractions of the "Fox and Hounds," so that Mr Oldfellow was of
the same mind as Dan Hewlett, who declared that "they Gobblealls was
plaguey toads of Methodys, and wasn't to think to bully them about like
his soldiers."

They had another drink all round to recover from their fright, when they
treated Softy Sam, but took care not to excite him to be noisy, while
the captain might be within earshot.

The two ladies had meanwhile taken refuge in what proved to be no other
than Mrs Daniel Hewlett's house, a better one, and less scantily
provided with furniture, than the widow Mole's, but much less clean and
neat. The door stood open, and there was a tub full of soap-suds
within. The captain gave a low whistle to intimate his presence, and
stood at the entrance. Unwashed dinner things were on a round table, a
dresser in confusion against the wall, on another _Moore's Almanack_ for
some years past, full of frightful catastrophes, mixed with little,
French, highly-coloured pictures of the Blessed Virgin.

His wife and her sister were seated, the one on a whole straw chair, the
other on a rickety one, conversing with a very neat, pale, and
pleasant-looking invalid young woman, evid