timorous--until together they once more
reached the spot, where Master Courage's amorous declarations had been
so rudely interrupted. He put the bucket down beside him, and rubbed his
hands together whilst uttering certain sounds which betrayed his glee.

Then only did she notice that he was carrying under one arm a long
curious-looking instrument--round and made of tin, with a handle at one
end.

She looked curiously into the bucket and at the instrument.

"'Tis the tar-water used for syringing the cattle," she whispered, "ye
must not touch it, master. Where did you find it?"

"Just by the wall," he rejoined. "I knew it was kept there. They wash
the sheep with it to destroy the vermin in them. This is the squirt for
it," he added calmly, placing the end of the instrument in the liquid,
"and I will mayhap destroy the vermin which is lodged in that elm tree."

A cry of terror issuing from above froze the very blood in Mistress
Charity's veins.

"Stop! stop! you young limb of Satan!" came from Master Busy's nearly
choking throat.

"It's evildoers or evil spirits, master," cried Mistress Charity in an
agony of fear.

"Whatever it be, mistress, this should destroy it!" said Master Courage
philosophically, as turning the syringe upwards he squirted the whole of
its contents straight into the fork of the ivy-covered branches.

There was a cry of rage, followed by a cry of terror, then Master
Hymn-of-Praise Busy with a terrific clatter of breaking boughs, fell in
a heap upon the soft carpet of moss.

Master Courage be it said to the eternal shame of venturesome youth,
took incontinently to his heels, leaving Mistress Charity to bear the
brunt of the irate saintly man's wrath.

Master Busy, we must admit had but little saintliness left in him now.
Let us assume that--as he explained afterwards--he was not immediately
aware of Mistress Charity's presence, and that his own sense of
propriety and of decorum had been drowned in a cataract of tar water.
Certain it is that a volley of oaths, which would have surprised Sir
Marmaduke himself, escaped his lips.

Had he not every excuse? He was dripping from head to foot, spluttering,
blinded, choked and bruised.

He shook himself like a wet spaniel. Then hearing the sound of a
smothered exclamation which did not seem altogether unlike a giggle, he
turned round savagely and perceived the dim outline of Mistress
Charity's dainty figure.

"The Lord love thee, Master Hymn-