night if the King calls thee Knight? It is
the dooty of a common man to call thee Sir John, and tak off his hat at
saying o' it." His hat came off, and he nodded in such an odd way that
Enderby burst out into a good honest laugh. "Dooth tha rememba little
Tom Dowsby that went hoonting wi' thee when tha wert not yet come to
age?" continued the stilt-walker. "Doost tha rememba when, for a jest,
thee and me stopped the lord bishop, tha own uncle, in the highway at
midnight, and took his poorse from him, and the rich gold chain from his
neck? And doost tha rememba that tha would have his apron too, for tha
said that if it kept a bishop clean, wouldna it keep highwaymen clean,
whose work was not so clean as a bishop's? Sir John Enderby, aw loove
thee better than the King, an' aw loove thee better than my Lord
Rippin'dale-ay, theere's a sour heart in a goodly body!"

John Enderby reined up his horse and looked the stilt-walker in the
face.

"Are you little Tom Dowsby?" exclaimed he. "Are you that scamp?" He
laughed all at once as though he had not a trouble in the world. "And do
you keep up your evil practices? Do you still waylay bishops?"

"If aw confessed to Heaven or man, aw would confess to thee, Sir John
Enderby; but aw'll confess nowt."

"And how know you that I am Sir John Enderby?"

"Even in Sleaford town aw kem to know it. Aw stood no further from
his Majesty and Lord Rippin'dale than aw stand from you, when the pair
talked by the Great Boar inn. Where doos tha sleep to-night?"

"At Spilsby."

"To-night the King sleeps at Sutterby on the Wolds. 'Tis well for thee
tha doost not bide wi' his Majesty. Theer, aw've done thee a service."

"What service have you done me?"

"Aw've told thee that tha moost sleep by Spilsby when the King sleeps at
Sutterby. Fare-thee-well, maister."

Doffing his cap once more, the stilt-walker suddenly stopped, and,
turning aside, made his way with an almost incredible swiftness across
the fen, taking the ditches with huge grotesque strides. Enderby looked
back and watched him for a moment curiously. Suddenly the man's words
began to repeat themselves in Enderby's head: "To-night the King sleeps
at Sutterby on the Wolds. 'Tis well for thee tha doost not bide wi' his
Majesty." Presently a dozen vague ideas began to take form. The man had
come to warn him not to join the King at Sutterby.

There was some plot against Charles! These stiltwalkers were tools in
the hands of the King'