"Well, Peter, I'm happy to find you all safe, and much happier to find that you can be trusted when I leave you, for you could not have behaved more prudently; now I'll tell you what I did, which was not much, as it happened. I knew that there was no cabaret between us and Flushing, for I took particular notice as I came along; so I took the road to Middelburg, and found but one, which was full of soldiers. I passed it, and found no other. As I came back past the same cabaret, one of the soldiers came out to me, but I walked along the road. He quickened his pace, and so did I mine, for I expected mischief. At last he came up to me, and spoke to me in Dutch, to which I gave him no answer. He collared me, and then I thought it convenient to pretend that I was deaf and dumb. I pointed to my mouth with an Au--au--and then to my ears, and shook my head; but he would not be convinced, and I heard him say something about English. I then knew that there was no time to be lost, so I first burst out into a loud laugh and stopped; and on his attempting to force me, I kicked up his heels, and he fell on the ice with such a rap on the pate, that I doubt if he has recovered it by this time. There I left him, and have run back as hard as I could, without anything for Peter to fill his little hungry inside with. Now, Peter, what's your opinion? for they say that out of the mouth of babes there is wisdom; and although I never saw anything come out of their mouths but sour milk, yet perhaps I may be more fortunate this time, for, Peter, you're but a baby."
"Not a small one, O'Brien, although not quite so large as Fingal's _babby_ that you told me the story of. My idea is this.--Let us, at all hazards, go to the farmhouse. They have assisted us, and may be inclined to do so again; if they refuse, we must push on to Flushing and take our chance."
"Well," observed O'Brien, after a pause, "I think we can do no better, so let's be off." We went to the farmhouse, and, as we approached the door, were met by the great mastiff. I started back, O'Brien boldly advanced. "He's a clever dog, and may know us again. I'll go up," said O'Brien, not stopping while he spoke, "and pat his head: if he flies at me, I shall be no worse than I was before, for depend upon it he will not allow us to go back again." O'Brien by this time had advanced to the dog, who looked earnestly and angrily at him. He patted his head, the dog growled, but O'Brien put his arm round his neck, and patting him again, whistled to him, and went to the door of the farmhouse. The dog followed him silently but closely. O'Brien knocked, and the door was opened by the little girl: the mastiff advanced to the girl, and then turned round, facing O'Brien, as much as to say, "Is he to come in?" The girl spoke to the dog, and went indoors. During her absence the mastiff lay down at the threshold. In a few seconds the woman who had brought us from Flushing, came out, and desired us to enter. She spoke very good French, and told us that fortunately her husband was absent; that the reason why we had not been supplied was, that a wolf had met her little girl returning the other day, but had been beaten off by the mastiff, and that she was afraid to allow her to go again; that she heard the wolf had been killed this evening, and had intended her girl to have gone to us early to-morrow morning; that wolves were hardly known in that country, but that the severe winter had brought them down to the lowlands, a very rare circumstance, occurring perhaps not once in twenty years. "But how did you pass the mastiff?" said she; "that has surprised my daughter and me." O'Brien told her, upon which she said "that the English were really '_des braves_.' No other man had ever done the same." So I thought, for nothing would have induced me to do it. O'Brien then told the history of the death of the wolf, with all particulars, and our intention, if we could not do better, of returning to Flushing.