Stir yo' legs and fetch me a dam scullion, and the chickens tender.
His Exc'llence mos' partic'ler the chickens tender."

Still adjuring her he shouldered his way through the house to the
kitchen, whence presently his voice sounded loud, authoritative, above
the clatter of cooking-pots. From time to time he broke away from the
business of unpacking to reiterate his demands for fish, eggs,
chicken--the last to be tender at all costs and at pain of his
tremendous displeasure.

"And I assure you, ma'am," said Captain Vyell, standing in the passage
at the door of his private room, "his standard is a high one. I believe
the blackguard never stole a tough fowl in his life. . . . Show me to my
bedroom, please, if the trunks are unstrapped; and the child, here, to
his. . . . Eh? What's this?--a rush-light? I don't use rush-lights.
Go to Manasseh and ask him to unpack you a pair of candles."

The landlady returned with a silver candlestick in either hand, and
candles of real wax. She had never seen the like, and led the way
upstairs speculating on their cost. The bedrooms proved to be clean,
though bare and more than a little stuffy--their windows having been
kept shut for some days against the gale. The Collector commanded them
to be opened. The landlady faintly protested. "The wind would gutter
the candles--and such wax too!" She was told to obey, and she obeyed.

In the boy's room knelt a girl--a chambermaid--unstrapping his small
valise. She had a rush-light on the floor beside her, and did not look
up as the landlady thrust open the lattice and left the room with the
Collector, the boy remaining behind. His candle stood upon a chest of
drawers by the window; and, as the others went out, a draught of wind