There was no cooking
to be done, for sufficient cold provisions had been brought with the
troop.
"You are just in time, Walter," his father said. "We are going to fall
to, at once, at our meal.
"Hand over that cold chicken, Larry; and do you, Tim Donelly, broach that
keg of claret. Give me the bread, Fergus--that's right.
"Now, gentlemen, here's a hunk each. Plates are a luxury which we must do
without, in the field. Now let us fall to."
Walter seated himself on a truss of straw beside his father, and thought
he had never enjoyed a meal so much, in his life, as the bread and cold
chicken, eaten as they were in the open air in front of the crackling
fire. Each was provided with a horn, and these were filled from the keg.
"Here's to the king, gentlemen. Success to his arms!"
All stood up to drink the toast, and then continued their meal. Three
chickens vanished rapidly, and the troopers kept their horns filled with
claret.
"If we always do as well as that," Captain Davenant said, as they
finished the meal, "we shall have no reason to grumble. But I fear that's
too much to expect.
"Bring me my pipe and tobacco, Larry. You will find them in the holsters
of my saddle.
"Fergus, do you undo these trusses, and lay the straw out even--that will
do.
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