It was a cold stormy night in December, and the green logs as they
blazed and crackled on the Cotter's hearth, were rendered more
delightful, more truly comfortable, by the contrast with the icy showers
of snow and sleet which swept against the frail casement, making all
without cheerless and miserable.
The Cotter was a handsome, intelligent old man, and afforded me much
information upon glebes, and flocks, and rural economy; while his
spouse, a venerable matron, was humming to herself some long since
forgotten ballad; and industriously twisting and twirling about her long
knitting needles, that promised soon to produce a pair of formidable
winter hose. Their son, a stout, healthy young peasant of
three-and-twenty, was sitting in the spacious chimney corner, sharing
his frugal supper of bread and cheese with a large, shaggy sheep dog,
who sat on his haunches wistfully watching every mouthful, and snap,
snap, snapping, and dextrously catching every morsel that was cast
to him.
We were all suddenly startled, however, by his loud bark; when, jumping
up, he rushed, or rather flew towards the door.
"Whew! whew!" whistled the youth--"Whoy--what the dickens ails thee,
Rover?" said he, rising and following him to the door to learn the cause
of his alarm. "What! be they gone again, ey?" for the dog was silent.
"What do thee sniffle at, boy? On'y look at 'un feyther; how the beast
whines and waggles his stump o' tail!--It's some 'un he knows for
sartain. I'd lay a wager it wur Bill Miles com'd about the
harrow, feyther."
"Did thee hear any knock, lad?" said the father.
"Noa!" replied the youth; "but mayhap Bill peep'd thro' the hoal in the
shutter, and is a bit dash'd like at seeing a gentleman here. Bill! is't
thee, Master Miles?" continued he, bawling. "Lord! the wind whistles so
a' can't hear me. Shall I unlatch the door, feyther?"
"Ay, lad, do, an thou wilt," replied the old man; "Rover's wiser nor we
be--a dog 'll scent a friend, when a man would'nt know un."
Rover still continued his low importunate whine, and began to scratch
against the door. The lad threw it open--the dog brushed past him in an
instant, and his quick, short, continuous yelping, expressed his
immoderate joy and recognition.
"Hollo! where be'st thee, Bill?" said the young peasant, stepping over
the threshold. "Come, none of thee tricks upon travellers, Master Bill;
I zee thee beside the rick yon!" and quitting the door for half a
minute, he again hastily entered the cot. The rich colour of robust
health had fled from his cheeks--his lips quivered--and he looked like
one bereft of his senses, or under the influence of some frightful
apparition.