stitched into his tippet. Y' are but a child, Tom Cuckow; ye have
lost the fish."

But, for all that, Ellis pocketed the purse with nonchalance. He stood
leaning on his boar-spear, and looked round upon the rest. They, in
various attitudes, took greedily of the venison pottage, and liberally
washed it down with ale. This was a good day; they were in luck; but
business pressed, and they were speedy in their eating. The first-comers
had by this time even despatched their dinner. Some lay down upon the
grass and fell instantly asleep, like boa-constrictors; others talked
together, or overhauled their weapons: and one, whose humour was
particularly gay, holding forth an ale-horn, began to sing:

"Here is no law in good green shaw,
Here is no lack of meat;
'Tis merry and quiet, with deer for our diet,
In summer, when all is sweet.

Come winter again, with wind and rain--
Come winter, with snow and sleet,
Get home to your places, with hoods on your faces,
And sit by the fire and eat."

All this while the two lads had listened and lain close; only Richard had
unslung his cross-bow, and held ready in one hand the windac, or
grappling-iron that he used to bend it. Otherwise they had not dared to
stir; and this scene of forest life had gone on before their eyes like a
scene upon a theatre. But now there came a strange interruption. The
tall chimney which over-topped the remainder of the ruins rose right
above their hiding-place. There came a whistle in the air, and then a
sounding smack, and the fragments of a broken arrow fell about their
ears. Some one from the upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very
sentinel they saw posted in the fir, had shot an arrow at the
chimney-top.

Matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he instantly stifled, and
even Dick started with surprise, and dropped the windac from his fingers.
But to the fellows on the lawn, this shaft was an expected signal. They
were all afoot together, tightening their belts, testing their
bow-strings, loosening sword and dagger in the sheath. Ellis held up his
hand; his face had suddenly assumed a look of savage energy; the white of
his eyes shone in his sun-brown face.

"Lads," he said, "ye know your places. Let not one man's soul escape
you. Appleyard was a whet before a meal; but now we go to table. I have
three men whom I will bitterly avenge--Harry Shelton, Simon Malmesbury,
and"--strik