onely ways, never seeming to weary
and never at a loss, silent for the most part as one in profound
thought, and I speaking little as is my wont, but Godby talked and sang
and laughed for the three of us.

It was as we sat outside a little ale-house snugged 'mid trees, eating
of bread and cheese, that Penfeather turned suddenly and gripped my arm:

"Martin," says he, "'twill be plaguy business carrying women aboard
ship--along o' these lambs o' mine--there's scarce a rogue but cheats
the gallows with his every breath!"

"Why then, tell her so, Adam, plain and to the point."

"'Twould be vain breath, Martin, I know her too well--and she is a
Brandon!"

"A curse on the name!" says I, whereupon Godby choked into his ale,
stared in surprise and would fain have questioned me, but meeting my
eye, spake no word.

"D'ye know aught of navigation, Martin?" says Adam suddenly.

"No whit, Adam, but I'll handle a boat with any man."

"Ha!" says he, and sat there pinching his chin until, our hunger being
appeased and the ale all drank, we fared on again. So we tramped, and
though our road was long I will here make short work of it and say that
at last we came, very hot and dusty, into the village of Lewisham,
where we would fain have baited awhile at the 'Lion and Lamb,' a fair
inn; but this Adam would by no means permit, so, leaving the village,
we presently turned aside from the main road into a lane very
pleasantly shaded by tall trees and bloomy hedgerows, the which (as I
do think) is called Mill Lane. In a while we reached a narrow track
down which Adam turned, and now as we went I was aware of strange
sounds, a confused hubbub growing ever louder until, deep amid the
green, we espied a lonely tavern before which stood a short, stout man
who alternately wrung his hands in lamentation, mopped at bloody pate
and stamped and swore mighty vehement, in the midst of which, chancing
to behold Penfeather, he uttered joyful shout and came running.

"Master Penfeather," cried he, "O Master Penfeather, here's fine
doings, love my eyes! Here's your rogues a-fighting and a-murdering of
each other, which is no great matter, but here's them a-wrecking o' my
house, which is great matter, here's them has broke my head wi' one o'
my own pottlepots, which is greater matter, here's me dursen't set of
it i' the place and my wife and maids all of a swound--O Master
Penfeather, here's doings, love my limbs!"

"Ha," says Penfeather, "fig