find "tale or tidings" of the red cow left behind, as before mentioned. How honest were nearly all men in those days! I did hear of her, and, having discovered her whereabouts, I went to the old house to breakfast, preparatory to riding to Heidelberg, fifty-seven miles all told, that night.
Dismounting at the stable door, I gave my mare to the groom, with a brisk injunction as to a good feed, and passed into the house. In the parlour was a maid-servant laying the breakfast. I stood before the fireplace in an easy attitude, and demanded when breakfast would be ready.
"In about half an hour, sir." I noticed a slightly surprised air.
"Can't you get it a little sooner, Mary?" I said, guessing at her name with the affability of a tavern guest of fashion and substance.
"I don't know, sir," she made answer meekly.
"Come, Mary," I said, "surely you could manage something in less time? I have a long way to ride to-day."
She smiled, and was about to reply, when a door opened, and a middle-aged personage, with full military whiskers, and an air of authority, looked in.
"I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing you, sir," he stated, with a certain dignity.
"No," I said; "no! I think not. Not been here since last year." (I did not particularly see the necessity either.) I was cool and cheerful, and it struck me that, for an innkeeper, he was over-punctilious.
"This is no inn, sir," he said, with increased sternness.
