Free-and-easy, pleasant people ye are, with a skin, as begrimed and as rugged as your own potatoes! But, to resume.

The sun was just rising in a delicious morning of June, when my father,--whose loyal antipathies I have mentioned made him also an early riser,--was preparing for the road.

A stout escort of his followers were as usual under arms to see him safe in the chaise, the passage to and from which every day being the critical moment of my father's life.
"'It's all right, your honor,' said his own man, as, armed with a blunderbuss, he opened the bed-room door.
"'Time enough, Tim,' said my father; 'close the door, for I haven't finished my breakfast.' "Now, the real truth was, that my father's attention was at that moment withdrawn from his own concerns by a scene which was taking place in a field beneath his window.
"But a few minutes before, a hack-chaise had stopped upon the roadside, out of which sprang three gentlemen, who, proceeding into the field, seemed bent upon something, which, whether a survey or a duel, my father could not make out.

He was not long, however, to remain in ignorance.

One, with an easy, lounging gait, strode towards a distant corner; another took an opposite direction; while a third, a short, pursy gentleman, in a red handkerchief and rabbit-skin waistcoat, proceeded to open a mahogany box, which, to the critical eyes of my respected father, was agreeably suggestive of bloodshed and murder.
"'A duel, by Jupiter!' said my father, rubbing his hands.