stared a moment at Jones, and then cried, “No, sir, no, I have very little harm, I thank you. Lord have mercy upon me!”—“I see, sir,” said Jones, “you are not free from apprehensions even of those who have had the happiness to be your deliverers; nor can I blame any suspicions which you may have; but indeed you have no real occasion for any; here are none but your friends present. Having mist our way this cold night, we took the liberty of warming ourselves at your fire, whence we were just departing when we heard you call for assistance, which, I must say, Providence alone seems to have sent you.”—“Providence, indeed,” cries the old gentleman, “if it be so.”—“So it is, I assure you,” cries Jones. “Here is your own sword, sir; I have used it in your defence, and I now return it into your hand.” The old man having received the sword, which was stained with the blood of his enemies, looked stedfastly at Jones during some moments, and then with a sigh cried out, “You will pardon me, young gentleman; I was not always of a suspicious temper, nor am I a friend to ingratitude.”

“Be thankful then,” cries Jones, “to that Providence to which you owe your deliverance: as to my part, I have only discharged the common duties of humanity, and what I would have done for any fellow-creature in your situation.”—“Let me look at you a little longer,” cries the old gentleman. “You are a human creature then? Well, perhaps you are. Come pray walk into my little hutt. You have been my deliverer indeed.”

The old woman was distracted between the fears which she had of her master, and for him; and Partridge was, if possible, in a greater fright. The former of these, however, when she heard her master speak kindly to Jones, and perceived what had happened, came again to herself; but Partridge no sooner saw the gentleman, than the strangeness of his dress infused greater terrors into that poor fellow than he had before felt, either from the strange description which he had heard, or from the uproar which had happened at the door.

To say the truth, it was an appearance which might have affected a more constant mind than that of Mr. Partridge. This person was of the tallest size, with a long beard as white as snow. His body was cloathed with the skin of an ass, made something into the form of a coat. He wore likewise boots on his legs, and a cap on his head, both composed of the skin of some other animals.

As soon as the old gentleman came into his house, the old woman began her congratulations on his happy escape from the ruffians. “Yes,” cried he, “I have escaped, indeed, thanks to my preserver.”—“O the blessing on him!” answered she: “he is a good gentleman, I warrant him. I was afraid your worship would have been angry with me for letting him in; and to be certain I should not have done it, had not I seen by the moon-light, that he was a gentleman, and almost frozen to death. And to be certain it must have been some good angel that sent him hither, and tempted me to do it.”

“I am afraid, sir,” said the old gentleman to Jones, “that I have nothing in this house which you can either eat or drink, unless you will accept a dram of brandy; of which I can give you some most excellent, and which I have had by me these thirty years.” Jones declined this offer in a very civil and proper speech, and then the other asked him, “Whither he was travelling when he mist his way?” saying, “I must own myself surprized to see such a person as you appear to be, journeying on foot at this time of night. I suppose, sir, you are a gentleman of these parts; for you do not look like one who is used to travel far without horses?”

“Appearances,” cried Jones, “are often deceitful; men sometimes look what they are not. I assure you I am not of this country; and whither I am travelling, in reality I scarce know myself.”

“Whoever you are, or whithersoever you are going,” answered the old man, “I have obligations to you which I can never return.”

“I once more,” replied Jones, “affirm that you have none; for there can be no merit in having hazarded that in your service on which I set no value; and nothing is so contemptible in my eyes as life.”

“I am sorry, young gentleman,” answered the stranger, “that you have any reason to be so unhappy at your years.”


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