re
very brave behind his back. But I will be no tale-bearer; and let that
suffice."

"I say no harm of you, Master Richard," returned the peasant. "Y'are a
lad; but when ye come to a man's inches, ye will find ye have an empty
pocket. I say no more: the saints help Sir Daniel's neighbours, and the
Blessed Maid protect his wards!"

"Clipsby," said Richard, "you speak what I cannot hear with honour. Sir
Daniel is my good master, and my guardian."

"Come, now, will ye read me a riddle?" returned Clipsby. "On whose side
is Sir Daniel?"

"I know not," said Dick, colouring a little; for his guardian had
changed sides continually in the troubles of that period, and every
change had brought him some increase of fortune.

"Ay," returned Clipsby, "you, nor no man. For, indeed, he is one that
goes to bed Lancaster and gets up York."

Just then the bridge rang under horse-shoe iron, and the party turned
and saw Bennet Hatch come galloping--a brown-faced, grizzled fellow,
heavy of hand and grim of mien, armed with sword and spear, a steel
salet on his head, a leather jack upon his body. He was a great man in
these parts; Sir Daniel's right hand in peace and war, and at that time,
by his master's interest, bailiff of the hundred.

"Clipsby," he shouted, "off to the Moat House, and send all other
laggards the same gate. Bowyer will give you jack and salet. We must
ride before curfew. Look to it: he that is last at the lych-gate Sir
Daniel shall reward. Look to it right well! I know you for a man of
naught. Nance," he added, to one of the women, "is old Appleyard up
town?"

"I'll warrant you," replied the woman. "In his field, for sure."

So the group dispersed, and while Clipsby walked leisurely over the
bridge, Bennet and young Shelton rode up the road together, through the
village and past the church.

"Ye will see the old shrew," said Bennet. "He will waste more time
grumbling and prating of Harry the Fift than would serve a man to shoe a
horse. And all because he has been to the French wars!"

The house to which they were bound was the last in the village, standing
alone among lilacs; and beyond it, on three sides, there was open meadow
rising towards the borders of the wood.

Hatch dismounted, threw his rein over the fence, and walked down the
field, Dick keeping close at his elbow, to where the old soldier was
digging, knee-deep in his cabbages, and now and again, in a cracked
voice, singing a snatch of song. He