I mused on my friend's unusual manner, as we walked back towards the inn;
but it was soon forgotten, in the satisfaction produced by eating a
good, substantial meal of broiled ham, with hot potatoes, boiled eggs,
a beefsteak, done to a turn, with the accessions of pickles, cold-slaw,
apple-pie, and cider. This is a common New York tavern dinner, for the
wayfarer; and, I must say, I have got to like it. Often have I enjoyed such
a repast, after a sharp forenoon's ride; ay, and enjoyed it more than I
have relished entertainments at which have figured turkies, oysters, hams,
hashes, and other dishes, that have higher reputations. Even turtle-soup,
for which we are somewhat famous in New York, has failed to give me the
same delight.

Dirck, to do him justice, ate heartily; for it is not an easy matter to
take away his appetite. As usual, I did most of the talking; and that
was with our landlady, who, hearing I was a son of her much-esteemed and
constant customer, Major Littlepage, presented herself with the dessert and
cheese, and did me the honour to commence a discourse. Her name was Light;
and light was she certain to cast on everything she discussed; that is to
say, innkeeper's light; which partakes somewhat of the darkness that is so
apt to overshadow no small portion of the minds of her many customers.

"Pray, Mrs. Light," I asked, when there was an opening, which was not until
the good woman had exhausted her breath in honour of the Littlepages,
"do you happen to know anything of a family, hereabouts, of the name of
Mordaunt?"

"Do I _happen_ to know, sir!--Why, Mr. Littlepage, you might almost as well
have asked me, if I had ever heard of a Van Cortlandt, or a Philipse, or
a Morris, or any other of the gentry hereabouts. Mr. Mordaunt has a