"Hold hard!" quoth he in mighty voice, peering at me over the fire.
"I've a blunderbuss here and two popps, so hold hard or I'll be forced
to brain ye wi' this here kettle. Now then--come forward slow, my
covey, slow, and gi'e us a peep o' you _churi_--step cautious now
or I'll be the gory death o' you!"
Not a little perturbed by these ferocious expressions, I advanced
slowly and very unwillingly into the firelight and, halting well out
of his reach, spoke in tone as conciliatory as possible.
"Pray pardon my intrusion, but--"
"Your what?" he demanded, while his quick, bright eyes roved over my
shrinking person.
"Intrusion," I repeated, "and now, if you will kindly allow--"
"Intrusion," quoth he, mouthing the word, "intrusion! Why, here's one
as don't come my way often! Intrusion! 'T is a good word and rhymes
wi' confusion, don't it?"
"It does!" said I, wondering at his manner.
"And 'oo might you be--and what?" he questioned, beckoning me nearer
with a motion of the kettle.
"One who has lost his way--"
"In silver buttons an' a jerry 'at--hum! You're a young nob, you are,
a swell, a tippy, a go--that's what you are! Wherefore and therefore I
ask what you might be a-doing in this here wood at midnight's lone
hour?"
"I am lost--"
"Aha!" said he, eyeing me dubiously and scratching his long, blue chin
with the spout of his kettle. "A young gent in a jerry 'at--lost an'
wandering far from a luxurious 'ome in a wood at midnight! And
wherefore? It ain't murder, is it? You aren't been doing to death any
pore, con-fiding young fe-male, have ye?"
"Good God--no!" I answered in indignant horror.
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