e
way, being won by their martial bearing as well as the sergeant's very
friendly way of speech.

Farmer Noy was in bed--a pock-marked, lantern-jawed old gaffer of
sixty-five; and the most remarkable point about him was the wife he had
married two years before--a young slip of a girl but just husband-high.
Money did it, I reckon; but if so, 'twas a bad bargain for her.
He was noted for stinginess to such a degree that they said his wife
wore a brass wedding-ring, weekdays, to save the genuine article from
wearing out. She was a Ruan woman, too, and therefore ought to have
known all about him. But woman's ways be past finding out.

Hearing the hoofs in his yard and the sergeant's _stram-a-ram_ upon the
door, down comes the old curmudgeon with a candle held high above his
head.

"What the devil's here?" he calls out. Sergeant Basket looks over the
old man's shoulder; and there, halfway up the stairs, stood Madam Noy in
her night rail--a high-coloured ripe girl, languishing for love, her red
lips parted and neck all lily-white against a loosened pile of
dark-brown hair.

"Be cussed if I turn back!" said the sergeant to himself; and added out
loud--

"Forty souldjers, in the King's name!"

"Forty devils!" says old Noy.

"They're devils to eat," answered the sergeant, in the most friendly
manner; "an', begad, ye must feed an' bed 'em this night--or else I'll
search your cellars. Ye are a loyal man--eh, farmer? An' your cellars
are big, I'm told."

"Sarah," calls out the old man, following the sergeant's bold glance,
"go back an' dress yersel' dacently this instant! These here honest
souldjers--forty damned honest gormandisin' souldjers--be come in his
Majesty's name, forty strong, to protect honest folks' rights in the
intervals of eatin' 'em out o' house an' home. Sergeant, ye be very
welcome i' the King's name. Cheese an' cider ye shall have, an' I pray
the mixture may turn your forty stomachs."

In a dozen minutes he had fetched out his stable-boys and farm-hands,
and, lantern in hand, was helping the sergeant to picket the horses and
stow the men about on clean straw in the outhouses. They were turning
back to the house, and the old man was turning over in his mind that the
sergeant hadn't yet said a word about where he was to sleep, when by the
door they found Madam Noy waiting, in her wedding gown, and with her
hair freshly braided.

Now, the farmer was mortally afraid of the sergeant, knowing he