dark brown riding
suit, none the better for Exmoor mud, but fitting him very differently
from the fashion of our tailors. Across the holsters lay his cloak,
made of some red skin, and shining from the sweating of the horse. As I
looked down on his stiff bright head-piece, small quick eyes and black
needly beard, he seemed to despise me (too much, as I thought) for a
mere ignoramus and country bumpkin.

"Annie, have down the cut ham," I shouted, for my sister was come to the
door by chance, or because of the sound of a horse in the road, "and
cut a few rashers of hung deer's meat. There is a gentleman come to sup,
Annie. And fetch the hops out of the tap with a skewer that it may run
more sparkling."

"I wish I may go to a place never meant for me," said my new friend, now
wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his brown riding coat, "if ever I
fell among such good folk. You are the right sort, and no error therein.
All this shall go in your favour greatly, when I make deposition. At
least, I mean, if it be as good in the eating as in the hearing. 'Tis
a supper quite fit for Tom Faggus himself, the man who hath stolen
my victuals so. And that hung deer's meat, now is it of the red deer
running wild in these parts?"

"To be sure it is, sir," I answered; "where should we get any other?"

"Right, right, you are right, my son. I have heard that the flavour
is marvellous. Some of them came and scared me so, in the fog of the
morning, that I hungered for them ever since. Ha, ha, I saw their
haunches. But the young lady will not forget--art sure she will not
forget it?"

"You may trust her to forget nothing, sir, that may tempt a guest to his
comfort."

"In faith, then, I will leave my horse in your hands, and be off for
it. Half the pleasure of the mouth is in the nose beforehand. But stay,
almost I forgot my business, in the hurry which thy tongue hath spread
through my lately despairing belly. Hungry I am, and sore of body, from
my heels right upward, and sorest in front of my doublet, yet may I not
rest nor bite barley-bread, until I have seen and touched John Ridd. God
grant that he be not far away; I must eat my saddle, if it be so."

"Have no fear, good sir," I answered; "you have seen and touched John
Ridd. I am he, and not one likely to go beneath a bushel."

"It would take a large bushel to hold thee, John Ridd. In the name of
the King, His Majesty, Charles the Second, these presents!"

He touched me with the