s in London send him news,
and they said it is going to be a terrible civil war."

"And me not up there with Sir Granby!" groaned the man. "Oh, dear! oh,
dear! it's a wicked, rusty old world!"

"But I've promised to help my mother all I can, Ben, and you must
promise to help me."

"Of course, sir; that you know. But say, sir, war breaking out, and we
all rusted up like this! We ought to be ready for anything."

"So I thought, Ben; but my mother says there's not likely to be trouble
in this out-of-the-way place."

"Then bless my dear lady's innocence! says Ben Martlet, and that's me,
sir. Why, you never knows where a spark may drop and the fire begin to
run."

"No, Ben."

"And if this is sure to be such a peaceful spot, why did the old
Roylands build the castle and make a moat and drawbridge, and all the
rest of it? They didn't mean the moat for nothing else, sir, but carp,
tench, and eels."

"And pike, Ben."

"No, sir. They thought of very different kind of pikes, sir, I can tell
you,--same as they I've got on the walls yonder in sheaves. But there;
her ladyship gives the word to you, and you gives it to me, and I
shouldn't be worth calling a soldier if I didn't do as I was ordered,
and directly, too, and--Hark!"

The old soldier held up his hand.

"Horses!" cried Roy, excitedly. "Why, who's coming here?"

CHAPTER SEVEN.

NEWS FROM THE WAR.

Roy and the old soldier hurried to a slit which gave on the road, and
the latter began to breathe hard with excitement as his eyes rested upon
three dusty-looking horsemen, well-mounted, and from whose round-topped,
spiked steel caps the sun flashed from time to time.

"Why, they're dragoons!" cried the old fellow, excitedly. "Enemies,
perhaps, and we're without a drawbridge as'll pull up. Here, quick,
take a sword, Master Roy. Here's mine. Let's make a show. They won't
know but what there's dozens of us."

Roy followed the old soldier's commands, and, buckling on the sword,
hurried with him down to the outer gate, just as the venerable old
retainer slammed it to with a heavy, jarring sound, and challenged the
horsemen, whom he could hardly see, to halt.

"Well done, old man!" muttered Ben. "The right stuff, Master Roy,
though he is ninety-four."

"What is it?" cried Roy, as he reached the gate, where the men were
dismounting and patting their weary troop-horses.

"Despatches for Lady Royland," said one, who seemed to be the leader.
"Are