s of the village, poring over some
book of wild adventure when at home, ranging the woods with an old duck
gun on his shoulders, or laying down beneath some shady tree poring over
the same wild legends when abroad. His aunt could make nothing of him,
and nobody else took the trouble. The curate, indeed, tried to teach him
once or twice, but he disconcerted the old man so by discharging his
musket at an old wig, hanging by the wall in the midst of a lecture on
the propriety of going to school, that he gave him up as hopeless.

The tap-room presented its usual evening appearance when the agent
entered. The curate and lawyer were deep in a discussion on the beauties
of the new poor-law; the farmers grumbling at the weather; the landlady
quietly seated behind the bar, while the bar-maid, a smart, coquettish
girl of nineteen, carried the ale and brandy around to the thirsty
customers, and all the usual concomitants of a scene then common, but,
what we must now call of the olden time, though half a century has
scarce passed away since it occurred. The agent was a great man there,
few liked him--in fact, all hated him, for though generally a just man,
he was entirely a man of business; punctuality was his deity--there was
no excuse with him for not meeting rent or bills when due; he did not
overcharge or wrong anyone, but he must have his bond, like Shylock,
without his ferocity. If money was due it must be paid; sickness, bad
crops, death itself was nothing to him; if not, he proceeded _legally_;
oh, what a world of anguish! what a number of crimes, crying aloud to
Heaven for justice and retribution, are committed under the cloak of
Man's legality. The type was forged in Hell that stamped the letter of
the law.

The agent, after exchanging courtesies, lip-deep, with the principal
farmers, the curate, etc., walked up to the bar and entered into
conversation with Mrs. Ally, as she was usually called.

'His lordship has desired me, Mrs. Ally, to put this notice up in a
conspicuous place in your tavern, perhaps you will oblige me by placing
it in a proper position.' So saying, he handed her the paper containing
the reward, etc., offered for the apprehension of Hunter.

'You may stick it up yourself on the parish pump, Mr. Lambert, if you
like, but my bar is no station-house or cage; give it to the town
crier,' said the dame bristling, for she hated the agent, and feared him
not.

'Dang my buttons!' said a burly farmer, 'Mrs.