Light up them candles.
Quick! I hear the men whistling to their dogs. They'll be here
directly."
Away waddled the human biped, and Mary, with another heavy sigh, lighted
the candles, and retreated into the bar-room.
The night was cold and damp, although it was but the first week in
October. The men were gathered about the fire, to dry their clothes and
warm themselves. The foremost of these was Godfrey Hurdlestone. "Polly!"
he shouted. "Polly Mathews, bring me a glass of brandy, and mind you
don't take toll by the way."
The men laughed. "A little would do the girl good, and raise her
spirits," said old Strawberry. "Never mind him, my dear. He's a stingy
one. Take a good sup. Brandy's good for every thing. It's good for the
head-ache, and the tooth-ache, and the heart-ache. That's right, take it
kindly. It has put a little blood into your pale face already."
"I wish it would put a little into her heart," said Godfrey: "she's
grown confoundedly dull of late."
"Why, Master Godfrey, who's fault is that, I should like to know?" said
the old poacher. "You drink all the wine out of the cask, and then kick
and abuse it, because 'tis empty. Now, before that girl came across you,
she was as high-spirited a tom-boy as ever I seed. She'd come here at
the dead o' night to fetch home her old dad, when she thought he'd been
here long enough, and she'd a song and a jest for us all.
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