THE WILD-DUCK SHOOTER.
cheerful fire. Her kettle was singing on the coals; she had a reed-candle, or home-made rushlight on her table, but the full moon shone in, and was the brighter light of the two. These two cottages were far from any road, or any other habitation; the old woman was, therefore, surprised, as she sat drawing out her thread, and crooning an old north-country song, to hear a sudden knock at the door.
It was loud and impatient, not like the knock of her neighbors in the other cottage; but the door was bolted, and the old woman rose, and shuffling to the window, looked out, and saw a shivering figure, apparently that of a youth.
'Trampers!' said the old woman, sententiously; 'tramping folk be not wanted here;' so saying, she went back to the fire without deigning to answer the door.
The youth, upon this, tried the door, and called to her to beg admittance. She heard him rap the snow from his shoes against her lintel, and again knock as if he thought she was deaf, and he should surely gain admittance if he could only make her hear.
The old woman, surprised at his audacity, went to the casement, and, with all pride of possession, opened it, and inquired his business.
'Good woman,' the stranger began, 'I only want a seat at your fire.'
'Nay,' said the old woman, giving effect to her words by her uncouth dialect, 'thoul't get no shelter here; I've nought to give to beggars—a dirty, wet critter, she continued, wrathfully, slamming to the window; 'it's a wonder where he found any water,
