irit.

CHAPTER VIII. THE THREE FRIENDS.

His companions had passed on whilst he was at his orisons; but his young
blood and the fresh morning air both invited him to a scamper. His staff
in one hand and his scrip in the other, with springy step and floating
locks, he raced along the forest path, as active and as graceful as a
young deer. He had not far to go, however; for, on turning a corner,
he came on a roadside cottage with a wooden fence-work around it, where
stood big John and Aylward the bowman, staring at something within. As
he came up with them, he saw that two little lads, the one about nine
years of age and the other somewhat older, were standing on the plot
in front of the cottage, each holding out a round stick in their left
hands, with their arms stiff and straight from the shoulder, as
silent and still as two small statues. They were pretty, blue-eyed,
yellow-haired lads, well made and sturdy, with bronzed skins, which
spoke of a woodland life.

"Here are young chips from an old bow stave!" cried the soldier in great
delight. "This is the proper way to raise children. By my hilt! I could
not have trained them better had I the ordering of it myself."

"What is it then?" asked Hordle John. "They stand very stiff, and I
trust that they have not been struck so."

"Nay, they are training their left arms, that they may have a steady
grasp of the bow. So my own father trained me, and six days a week I
held out his walking-staff till my arm was heavy as lead. Hola, mes
enfants! how long will you hold out?"

"Until the sun is over the great lime-tree, good master," the elder
answered.

"What would ye be, then? Woodmen? Verderers?"

"Nay, soldiers," they cried both together.

"By the beard of my father! but ye are whelps of the true breed. Why so
keen, then, to be soldiers?"

"That we may fight the Scots," they answered. "Daddy will send us to
fight the Scots."

"And why the Scots, my pretty lads? We have seen French and Spanish
galleys no further away than Southampton, but I doubt that it will be
some time before the Scots find their way to these parts."

"Our business is with the Scots," quoth the elder; "for it was the Scots
who cut off daddy's string fingers and his thumbs."

"Aye, lads, it was that," said a deep voice from behind Alleyne's
shoulder. Looking round, the wayfarers saw a gaunt, big-boned man, with
sunken cheeks and a sallow face, who had come up behind them. He held
up his