William, I'll be lost, Andy!"

"Well, and even if you are, sir," replied Andy, who, guided by his
voice, had now approached and joined him; "even if you are, sir, I trust
you'll bear it like a Christian and a Trojan."

"Get out, you old sniveller--what do you mean by a Trojan?"

"A Trojan, sir, I was tould, is a man that lives by sellin' wild-fowl.
They take an oath, sir, before they begin the trade, never to die until
they can't help it."

"You mean to say, or to hint at least, that in addition to our other
dangers we run the risk of coming in contact with poachers?"

"Well, then, sir, if I don't mistake they're out to-night. However,
don't let us alarm one another. God forbid that I'd say a single word to
frighten you; but still, you know yourself that there's many a man not
a hundred miles from us that 'ud be glad to mistake you for a target, a
mallard, or any other wild-fowl or that description."

"In the meantime we are both well armed," replied his master; "but what
I fear most is the risk we run of falling down precipices, or walking
into lakes or quagmires. What's to be done? This fog is so cursedly cold
that it has chilled my very blood into ice."

"Our best plan, sir, is to dismount, and keep ourselves warm by taking
a pleasant stroll across the country. The horses will take care of
themselves. In the meantime keep up your spirits--we'll both want
something to console us; but this I can tell you, that devil a bit of