Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. "Captain," he cried, in a voice of the bitterest anguish, "have these dogs again hunted you down? If you hadn't been so unlucky, I should have been with you before to-morrow night. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips. It'll be in your way. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man.
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