Paul Ritson, whom he had once seen in Hendon. He had always
meant to settle for himself that knotty question. So here, on his first
visit to London, he intended to put up at the very inn about which the
mystery gathered.

"How's ta rubbun on?" he said, by way of salute on entering. When Mrs.
Drayton had gone upstairs she had left the pot-boy in charge of the bar.
He was a loutish lad of sixteen, and his name was Jabez.

Jabez slowly lifted his eyes from the pewters he was washing, and a
broad smile crossed his face. Evidently the new-comer was a countryman.

"Cold neet, eh? Sharp as a step-mother's breath," said Gubblum, throwing
down the panier and drawing up to the fire.

The smile on the face of Jabez broadened perceptibly, and he began to
chuckle.

"What's ta snertan at, eh?" said Gubblum. "I say it's hot weather varra.
Hasta owt agenn it?"

Jabez laughed outright. Clearly the countryman must be crazy.

"What's yon daft thingamy aboot?" thought Gubblum. Then aloud, "Ay, my
lad, gie us a laal sup o' summat."

Jabez found his risible faculties sorely disturbed by this manner of
speech. But he proceeded to fill a pewter. The pot-boy's movements
resembled those of a tortoise in celerity.

"He's a stirran lad, yon," thought Gubblum. "He's swaddering like a duck
in a puddle."

"Can I sleep here to-neet?" he asked, when Jabez had brought him his
beer.

Then the sapient smile on the pot-boy's face ripened into speech.

"I ain't answering for the sleeping," said Jabez, "but happen you may
have a bed--he, he, he! I'll ask the missis--he, he, haw!"

"The missis? Hasta never a master, then?" said Gubblum.

Now, Jabez had been warned, with many portentous threats, that in the
event of any one asking for the master he was to be as mute as the
grave. So in answer to the peddler's question he merely shook his wise
head and looked grave and astonishingly innocent.

"No? And how lang hasta been here?"

"Three years come Easter," said Jabez.

"And how lang dusta say 'at missis has been here?"

"Missis? I heard father say as Mistress Drayton has kep' the Hawk and
Heron this five-and-twenty year."

"Five-and-twenty! Then I reckon that master would be no'but a laal wee
barn when she coomt first," said Gubblum.

"Happen he were," said Jabez. Then, recovering the caution so
unexpectedly disturbed, Jabez protested afresh that he had no master.

"It's slow wark suppen buttermilk wi' a pitchfork," thought Gubblum, an