his
followers poked the sharp points of their blades through the coats of
the men, 'just to remind you, Quaker dogs, of what we could do, an' we
chose.'

Amid all this noise and hurly-burly, the men and women Friends sat on
in stillness as long as possible. Only when their seats were actually
overturned, they rose to their feet and stood upright in their places.
They were ready to be beaten or trampled upon, if necessary; but they
would not, of their own will, quit their ground. Strangely enough, the
wives did not rush to their husbands or cling to them; the men did not
seek to protect the women-folk. They all remained, even the lads and
lasses, self-poised as it were, one company still; resting, as long as
they could, quietly, in the inward citadel of peace. In spite of all
the hubbub, the true spirit of worship was not disturbed.

At last the soldiers, determined not to be baffled, came to yet closer
quarters and drove their unresisting victims, willy nilly, before them
from under the sheltering rafters of the barn. The Friends were
roughly hustled down the steep hillside and driven hither and thither,
but still the meeting was not interrupted, for their hearts could not
be driven out from the overshadowing presence of God.

So the great fells looked down upon a strange scene a few minutes
later,--a strange scene, yet one all too common in those days. A
cavalcade of glittering horsemen with their flowing perukes, ruffles,
gay coats, plumed hats, and all the extravagances of the costume of
even the fighting man of 'good King Charles's golden days.' In the
centre of this gay throng, a little company of Friends in their plain
garments of homespun and duffel, moving along, with sober faces and
downcast eyes, speaking never a word as their captors prepared to
force them to their destination--the Justice's house at Ingmire Hall
near Sedbergh.

Now from Drawwell Farm to Ingmire is some little distance. The way is
hilly, and the roads are narrow and rough. Bad going it is on those
roads even to-day, and far worse in the times of which I write.
Therefore the troopers quickly grew weary of their task, weary of
trying to rein in their mettlesome horses to keep pace with the slow
steps of their prisoners, weary, too, of even the sport of pricking at
these last with their swords, to try to make them go faster.

They had barely reached the bottom of the slope when Ensign Hodgson,
ever a restless youth, lost patience. As soon