. He would have been content for the siege to last forever. But
the siege did not last forever.

V

A MONSTROUS REGIMENT

In the great hall at Harby a motley fellowship were assembled. If a
stranger from a strange land, wafted thither on some winged Arabian
carpet or flying horse of ebony, could have beheld the place and the
company, he would have been hard put to it to find any reasonable
explanation of what his eyes witnessed. In the middle of the hall
some five singular figures stood on line: two tall, powerful lads
with foolish faces, flagrant farm-hands; an old, bowed man with the
snow of many winters on his hair; an impish lad who might have
welcomed fourteen springs; and, finally, a rubicund, buxom woman with
very red cheeks, very blue eyes, very brown hair, whose person
suggested the kitchen a league off. Each of these persons handled a
pike, carrying it at an angle different from that of the others, and
each of them gazed with painfully attentive stare at the oaken table
near the hearth upon which Hercules Halfman sat learnedly expounding
the mysteries of the pike drill, while Thoroughgood stood between
him and the awkward squad to illustrate in his own person and with
the pike he carried the teachings of the instructor.

"Order your pikes," Halfman commanded. "Advance your pikes. Shoulder
your pikes." Then, as these orders were obeyed deftly enough by
Thoroughgood and with bewildering variety by the others, he
continued, "Trail your pikes," and then broke sharply off to
expostulate with one of the farm-hands.

"Now, Timothy Garlinge, call you that trailing of a pike. Why, Gammer
Satchell carries herself more soldierly."

Timothy Garlinge grinned loutishly at this rebuke, but the fat dame
whom Halfman's flourish indicated seemed to dilate with satisfaction.

"It were shame," she chuckled, "if a handy lass could not better a
lobbish lad."

The impish lad grinned derision.

"Ay," he commented; "but an old fool's best at her spits and
griddles."

A most unmilitary titter rippled along the rank but broke upon the
rock of Mrs. Satchell's anger. It might have seemed to many that it
were impossible for the dame's cheeks to be any redder, but Mistress
Satchell's visage showed that nature could still work miracles. With
face a rich crimson from chin to forehead, she made to hurl herself
upon the leering, fleering mannikin, but was caught in the
unbreakable restraint of neighbor Clupp's clasp.

"Y