"Corporal and I," replied Smallbones; "we be agreed, ban't we,
corporal?"

"Mein Gott, yes!"

"And now I votes that we tries it off-hand; what's the use of
shilly-shally? I made a mortal vow that that 'ere dog and I won't live
together--there ban't room enough for us two."

"It's a wide world, nevertheless," observed Coble, hitching up his
trousers; "howsomever, I have nothing to say, but I wish you luck; but
if you kill that dog, I'm a bishop--that's all."

"And if I don't try for to do so, I am an harchbishop, that's all,"
replied the gallant Smallbones. "Come along, corporal."

And here was to be beheld a novel scene. Smallbones followed in
obedience by his former persecutor and his superior officer; a bag of
bones--a reed--a lath--a scarecrow; like a pilot cutter ahead of an
Indiaman, followed in his wake by Corporal Van Spitter, weighing twenty
stone. How could this be? It was human nature. Smallbones took the lead,
because he was the more courageous of the two, and the corporal
following, proved he tacitly admitted it.

"He be a real bit of stuff, that 'ere Peter Smallbones," said one of the
men.

"I thinks he be a supernatural himself, for my part," rejoined Spurey.

"At all events, he ar'n't afeard of him," said another.