'Thee cannot well miss that.

A dunno tho', thee bees sich a gawby.' So he went on, and delivered Philip safely up to the landlord.
'Here's a felly as a fund on t' fell side, just as one as if he were drunk; but he's sober enough, a reckon, only summat's wrong i' his head, a'm thinkin'.' 'No!' said Philip, sitting down on the first chair he came to.

'I'm right enough; just fairly wearied out: lost my way,' and he fainted.
There was a recruiting sergeant of marines sitting in the house-place, drinking.

He, too, like Philip, had lost his way; but was turning his blunder to account by telling all manner of wonderful stories to two or three rustics who had come in ready to drink on any pretence; especially if they could get good liquor without paying for it.
The sergeant rose as Philip fell back, and brought up his own mug of beer, into which a noggin of gin had been put (called in Yorkshire 'dog's-nose').

He partly poured and partly spilt some of this beverage on Philip's face; some drops went through the pale and parted lips, and with a start the worn-out man revived.
'Bring him some victual, landlord,' called out the recruiting sergeant.