"And now for
supper, for I am as sharp-set as a wolf; and so is old Hubert," he added,
glancing affectionately at the hound by which he was attended.
Mabel placed the better part of a huge pie before him, which the old
forester attacked with great zeal. He then fell to work upon some
slices of bacon toasted over the embers by his granddaughter, and
having washed them down with a jug of mead, declared he had supped
famously. While taking care of himself, he did not forget his hound.
From time to time he threw him morsels of the pie, and when he had
done he gave him a large platterful of bones.
"Old Hubert has served me faithfully nigh twenty years," he said, patting
the hound's shaggy neck, "and must not be neglected."
Throwing a log of wood on the fire, he drew his chair into the ingle-
nook, and disposed himself to slumber. Meanwhile, Mabel busied
herself about her household concern, and was singing a lulling melody
to her grandfather, in a voice of exquisite sweetness, when a loud tap
was heard at the door. Tristram roused himself from his doze, and old
Hubert growled menacingly.
"Quiet, Hubert--quiet!" cried Tristram. "It cannot be Morgan Fenwolf,"
he added.
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