ck, and black-feathered. Here is an
ill-favoured shaft, by my sooth! for black, they say, bodes burial. And
here be words written. Wipe the blood away. What read ye?"

"'_Appulyaird fro Jon Amend-All,_'" read Shelton. "What should this
betoken?"

"Nay, I like it not," returned the retainer, shaking his head. "John
Amend-All! Here is a rogue's name for those that be up in the world! But
why stand we here to make a mark? Take him by the knees, good Master
Shelton, while I lift him by the shoulders, and let us lay him in his
house. This will be a rare shog to poor Sir Oliver; he will turn paper
colour; he will pray like a windmill."

They took up the old archer, and carried him between them into his
house, where he had dwelt alone. And there they laid him on the floor,
out of regard for the mattress and sought, as best they might, to
straighten and compose his limbs.

Appleyard's house was clean and bare. There was a bed, with a blue
cover, a cupboard, a great chest, a pair of joint-stools, a hinged table
in the chimney-corner, and hung upon the wall the old soldier's armoury
of bows and defensive armour. Hatch began to look about him curiously.

"Nick had money," he said. "He may have had three-score pounds put by. I
would I could light upon't! When ye lose an old friend, Master Richard,
the best consolation is to heir him. See, now, this chest. I would go a
mighty wager there is a bushel of gold therein. He had a strong hand to
get, and a hard hand to keep withal, had Appleyard the archer. Now may
God rest his spirit! Near eighty year he was afoot and about, and ever
getting; but now he's on the broad of his back, poor shrew, and no more
lacketh; and if his chattels came to a good friend, he would be merrier,
methinks, in heaven."

"Come, Hatch," said Dick, "respect his stone-blind eyes. Would ye rob
the man before his body? Nay, he would walk!"

Hatch made several signs of the cross; but by this time his natural
complexion had returned, and he was not easily to be dashed from any
purpose. It would have gone hard with the chest had not the gate
sounded, and presently after the door of the house opened and admitted a
tall, portly, ruddy, black-eyed man of near fifty, in a surplice and
black robe.

"Appleyard--" the newcomer was saying, as he entered; but he stopped
dead. "Ave Maria!" he cried. "Saints be our shield! What cheer is this?"

"Cold cheer with Appleyard, sir parson," answered Hatch, with perfect
chee