ddler. "Cram me wi' spiders
else!"

So the good ale was brought and Godby, lifting his tankard, smiled and
nodded over the creamy foam:

"Here's a griping colic to every catchpoll, harmon-beck and the like
vermin 'twixt this and London town!" says he, and lifted the ale to his
lips; but suddenly he sat it down untasted and rose: "Friends, I'm
took!" quoth he. "See yonder!" As he spake the narrow doorway was
darkened and two rough fellows entered, and each bore a formidable
bludgeon.

"Aye," says one, a big, surly-voiced fellow, "here be us, peddler, and
there be you, so best come easy--an' no tricks, mind!"

"Then easy does it, lads!" says Godby, no whit abashed. "No lamb could
come milder than Godby, aye lambs, doves and babes is roaring lions
compared wi' Godby--so easy does it. What is't this time, codgers?"

"Fower hours i' the pillory, three i' the stocks, and a month in
Maidstone jail and that's what!"

"And enough too!" growled Roger the landlord, clenching hairy fist and
glancing furtively towards a rusty sword suspended above the hearth.

"Let be, Roger--I'm a lamb!" sighed the peddler. "And I wouldn't ha'
you in trouble by me--besides this room o' yourn, though snug, ain't
fit for struggling nor striving! So, friends--good-bye!" Then he
turned away between his two captors, but as he did so, his bright eyes
for one moment met mine and in his look I read appeal.

Now scarce were they gone when I got me to my feet, whereat the
landlord, Roger, did the like:

"What's to do?" he questioned, glancing yearningly from me to the rusty
sword.

"Why now," says I, counting out my reckoning, "bide you here--for your
good wife's sake."

"Aye, do now, Roger!" she pleaded. "'Twould be ruination to us!"

"Moreover," says I, reaching for my cudgel, "they are but two, so bide
you here." Then I stepped forth of the tavern and very soon came up
with the two fellows, their prisoner walking betwixt them meekly
enough. But, as I approached, they halted all three.

"And what be you after?" demanded the surly fellow.

"You!"

"And what d'ye want of us--hey?"

"Your prisoner!"

"Ha! And what for him?"

"I've a mind to him!"

"O! Ye have, eh?"

"I have. Do I get him?"

"Be curst for a black, ugly rogue."

"That's no answer!"

"'Tis all you'll get o' we, save 'ard knocks!" says the man, spitting
in his hand and taking firm grip of his bludgeon.

"Why then I must take him!" says I.

"Try an