"Indeed no," said I; for I hated to sit idle in a boat.

"Should you reach Brentford on the flood, there are many who will ease
you of your craft, and bring her back. Meanwhile 'tis an easy road by
the river's bank to Kingston. We have a good friend there, one Master
Udal, the minister, with whom this letter will procure you a welcome,
and at his house you are to lie to-night. He will lend you a horse and
put you on the way to Oxford."

"And see here, Humphrey," said my mistress, holding up a brave cloak of
dark red cloth, as long as to my knee, "here is what will comfort you
against the cold morning air, and change you into a veritable highwayman
on the road."

It was a brave cloak indeed, so weighty and well padded, that had my
journey been not to Oxford, but to the Poles, it would not have been
amiss.

"See you take care of it," continued my good mistress.

"It is your gift and your making," said I, "so I can readily promise
that."

"I can lend you a hat to match it," said my master, "and a sword."

"I have a sword of my own," said I, proudly, for I had taken one from
Mr Merriman's bully, a week ago.

"Well, well. The weather promises fair for your journey. Do whatever
the minister bids you, and return speedily when your business is over.
Here is a purse which will cover all your needs, with something to bring
back to me at the end. And so, farewell, Humphrey. Be secret, and talk
to no one on the way without necessity."

My mistress also bade me farewell, and between them they hurried me off
to the wherry. In my haste I was near leaving behind me my brave new
cloak. But my master, seizing it, came with it angrily, and said:

"Is this your care, sirrah! If you end your journey no better than you
begin it, 'twill be little enough to boast of."

Which I considered fuss enough about a matter which concerned only my
own person, and not his errand. For what was my cloak to him? Yet I
felt ashamed to have neglected my mistress' kindness, and I told him so,
whereat he was pacified.

The tide served me some three hours and more, in which time, by dint of
hard rowing, I reached Brentford, where I left the boat. Being weary
and hot (for the sun was now high and fierce), I resolved to dine before
I went farther, and sought the nearest tavern for that purpose. It was
an ill-looking place, and kept by an ill-looking host; but hunger is no
respecter of persons; and, as he called me "your worship," an