His hat was fastened tight on his brows by a blue pocket-handkerchief; he
wore a spencer of a light brown drugget, a world too loose, above a
leather jerkin; his breeches of corduroy, were met all of a sudden half
way up the thigh, by a detachment of Hessians, formerly in the service of
the Corporal, and bought some time since by Peter Dealtry to wear when
employed in shooting snipes for the Squire, to whom he occasionally
performed the office of game-keeper; suspended round his wrist by a bit
of black ribbon, was his constable's baton; he shouldered his musket
gallantly, and he carried his person as erect as if the least deflexion
from its perpendicularity were to cost him his life. One may judge of the
revolution that had taken place in the village, when so peaceable a man
as Peter Dealtry was thus metamorphosed into a commander-in-chief. The
rest of the regiment hung sheepishly back; each trying to get as near to
the door, and as far from the ladies, as possible. But Peter having made
up his mind, that a hero should only look straight forward, did not
condescend to turn round, to perceive the irregularity of his line.
Secure in his own existence, he stood truculently forth, facing the
Squire, and prepared to receive his plaudits.

Madeline and Aram sat apart at one corner of the hearth, and Ellinor
leaned over the chair of the former; the mirth that she struggled to
suppress from being audible, mantling over her arch face and laughing
eyes; while the Squire, taking the pipe from his mouth, turned round on
his easy chair, and nodded complacently to the little corps, and the
great commander.

"We are all ready now, your honour," said Peter, in a voice that did not
seem to belong to his body, so big did it sound, "all hot, all eager."