e table, as always must be in these parts;
but not of the genial, reckless sort which random travelers carried
on without any check from the Sawyer. For he of all men ever born in
a civilized age was the finest host, and a guest beneath his roof
was sacred as a lady to a knight. Hence it happened that I was much
surprised. Proper conduct almost compelled me to withdraw; but curiosity
made me take just one more little peep, perhaps. Looking back at these
things now, I can not be sure of every thing; and indeed if I could, I
must have an almost supernatural memory. But I remember many things; and
the headache may have cleared my mind.

The stranger who had brought Mr. Gundry's humor into such stiff
condition was sitting in the corner, a nook where light and shadow made
an eddy. He seemed to be perfectly unconcerned about all the tricks of
the hearth flame, presenting as he did a most solid face for any light
to play upon. To me it seemed to be a weather-beaten face of a bluff and
resolute man, the like of which we attribute to John Bull. At any rate,
he was like John Bull in one respect: he was sturdy and square, and fit
to hold his own with any man.

Strangers of this sort had come (as Englishmen rove every where), and
been kindly welcomed by Uncle Sam, who, being of recent English blood,
had a kind of hankering after it, and would almost rather have such at
his board than even a true-born American; and infinitely more welcome
were they than Frenchman, Spaniard, or German, or any man not to be
distinguished, as was the case with some of them. Even now it was clear
that the Sawyer had not grudged any tokens of honor, for the tall,
square, brazen candlesticks, of Boston make, were on the table, and
very little light they gave. The fire, however, was grandly roaring of
stub-oak and pine antlers, and the black grill of the chimney bricks
was fringed with lifting filaments. It was a rich, ripe light, affording
breadth and play for shadow; and the faces of the two men glistened, and
darkened in their creases.

I was dressed in black, and could not be seen, though I could see them
so clearly; and I doubted whether to pass through, upon my way to the
larder, or return to my room and starve a little longer; for I did not
wish to interrupt, and had no idea of listening. But suddenly I was
compelled to stop; and to listen became an honest thing, when I knew
what was spoken of--or, at any rate, I did it.

"Castlewood, Master Col