"Shan't do so well i' the next, I fear," he said with a twinkle:
"but I owe thee something, and here's a hedgehog that in five
minutes'll be baked to a turn. 'Tis a good world, and the better
that no man can count on it. Last night my dripping duds helped me
to a cant tale, and got me a silver penny from a man of religion.
Good's in the worst; and life's like hunting the squirrel--a man
gets much good exercise thereat, but seldom what he hunts for."

"That's as good morality as Aristotle's," said I.

"'Tis better for _me_, because 'tis mine." While I tether'd my
horse he blew at the embers, wherein lay a good-sized ball of clay,
baking. After a while he look'd up with red cheeks. "They were so
fast set on drowning me," he continued with a wink, "they couldn't
spare time to look i' my pocket--the ruffin cly them!"

He pull'd the clay ball out of the fire, crack'd it, and lo! inside
was a hedgehog cook'd, the spikes sticking in the clay, and coming
away with it. So he divided the flesh with his knife, and upon a
slice of bread from his wallet it made very delicate eating: tho' I
doubt if I enjoyed it as much as did my comrade, who swore over and
over that the world was good, and as the wintry sun broke out, and
the hot ashes warm'd his knees, began to chatter at a great pace.

"Why, sir, but for the pretty uncertainty of things I'd as lief die
here as I sit----"

He broke off at the sound of wheels, and a coach with two
postillions spun past us on the road.