'lemen as never gets yourselves wet
can bear 'em, I should think I can. Let me go, sir, please." Sir
Godfrey hesitated.

"Well, my lad," he said, "I must warn you of the risks of what you ask.
We both go with our lives and liberties in our hands."

"All right, sir; and I'll take my life and liberty in my hand, though I
don't zackly know what you mean."

"I mean that any day you may be cut down or shot."

"Oh, that, Sir Godfrey! Well, so's our flowers and fruits every day.
That's their chance, I suppose, and I'll take mine same as you take
yours. Maybe I might help to keep off a bit o' danger from both on you,
and I don't suppose Master Scarlett would let any man give me a chop, if
he could stop it."

Sir Godfrey gave his horse a final pat on his fine arching neck, and
walked back out of the stall, to stand gazing full at his man, who
slipped off his hat, and drew himself up awkwardly in soldierly fashion.
Then, without a word, and to Nat's dismay, he turned to his son.

"Yes," he said; "take Moorcock, my boy, and the stoutest saddle and
bridle you can find."

Then he walked straight out of the stables, leaving Nat gazing after him
in dismay.

"And me with such arms, Master Scar!" he cried, in a protesting tone.
"Look here, sir."

He stripped off his jerkin and rolled his shirt up over his knotted
limbs, right to the shoulder, displaying thew and sinew of which a
gladiator might have been proud.

"Well, Master Scar, sir, as I'm not to go, I wish I could chop off them
two arms, and give 'em to you, for you'd find 'em very useful when you
came to fight."

Just then the stable door was darkened by the figure of Sir Godfrey, who
looked in, and said sharply--

"Scarlett, my boy, I have been thinking that over. It would be wise to
take Black Adder too, in case one of our steeds breaks down."

Nat's ears gave a visible twitch, and seemed to cock towards the
speaker, as he continued--

"I'll leave it in your hands to settle about Nat. You can take him if
you wish."

He walked away, and in an instant Nat was squatting down, and going
through what is known to boys as the cobbler's hornpipe for a few
moments, a triumphal terpsichorean performance, which he ended directly,
and ran to the wall, ducked down head and hands, till he planted them on
the stone floor, and, throwing up his heels, stood upon his head, and
tapped the wall with the backs of his boots.

"Nat, come down," cried Scarlett, laughing. "W