The guests thereby at once acquitted themselves of their
burden of gratitude for their entertainer's kindness, encouraged the
trade of his change-house, did honour to the place which afforded harbour
to their horses, and indemnified themselves for the previous restraints
imposed by private hospitality, by spending what Falstaff calls the sweet
of the night in the genial license of a tavern.
Accordingly, in full expectation of these distinguished guests, Luckie
Macleary had swept her house for the first time this fortnight, tempered
her turf-fire to such a heat as the season required in her damp hovel
even at Midsummer, set forth her deal table newly washed, propped its
lame foot with a fragment of turf, arranged four or five stools of huge
and clumsy form upon the sites which best suited the inequalities of her
clay floor; and having, moreover, put on her clean toy, rokelay, and
scarlet plaid, gravely awaited the arrival of the company, in full hope
of custom and profit. When they were seated under the sooty rafters of
Luckie Macleary's only apartment, thickly tapestried with cobwebs, their
hostess, who had already taken her cue from the Laird of Balmawhapple,
appeared with a huge pewter measuring-pot, containing at least three
English quarts, familiarly denominated a Tappit Hen, and which, in the
language of the hostess, reamed (i.
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