Boy's Ride

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER XXIII

  The pace at which Walter Skinner had left Dunstable for London he keptup for some two miles, when he slackened his rein at the bidding of hishalf-drunken fancy.

  "I be for London town," he said to himself with a serious look. "Andother men than I have been there before now. Yea, verily, and have gotthem safe home again into the bargain. But not so will I do. For inLondon will I bide, either till the king make a duke of me or till Ibecome the Lord Mayor. For I be resolved to rise in the world. And thefirst step toward it is to be resolved; yea, and to be determined; andto look Dame Fortune full in the face and to say to her, 'Play notricks on me.'"

  By this time he was come up with a belated carrier who, since his cartwas empty and he upon his return journey, dared to be upon the road atnight. There was no moon, and in the starlight Walter Skinner could seebut imperfectly. "And who art thou?" he demanded loftily, "that thoushouldest creak and rumble along over the road and block the way of arising man? The sun doth rise, and why not I? Only the sun riseth notin the middle of the night, and neither will I. Nay, verily, but I willwait to rise till I be come to London town. And so I bid thee, whoeverthou art, make place for me that I may pass thee upon the road."

  The carter, wondering much who this drunken madman might be, made noanswer but drove his creaking vehicle forward slowly as before, and inthe middle of the highway. Behind him, and at the tail of the cart,followed Walter Skinner with equal slowness. For some moments he saidnothing more as, with closed eyes and heavily nodding head, he rodealong. Then he roused himself. "Stop!" he called fiercely. "Stop, Isay. I will go to bed in thy wagon or cart or whatever it may be, whichI cannot see for want of light."

  "I carry not passengers for naught," observed the carter, civilly.

  "Yea, but thou wilt carry me," retorted Walter Skinner. "I tell thee Iserve the king. Why, the prior of St. Edmund's did give me a horse whenmine own was gone, and wilt thou refuse me a bed? It shall go hard withthee, varlet that thou art, if thou dost. I be ready to sink fromweariness. Lend me a hand down and into thy cart; lead thou my horse,and so shall we proceed, I at rest as becometh the king's man, and thouserving me, thy proper master."

  The carter was slow of wit, and, as most men did, he trembled at themention of the king. He therefore did as he was requested, and WalterSkinner was soon bumping along the road, oblivious to all hissurroundings. In the cart he might have remained until he reached St.Albans, but that, just at dawn, he had a frightful dream. He was againat Dunstable, and the landlord of the Shorn Lamb was about to deliverhim to the king who stood, in his dream, a hideous monster with hornsupon his head. In a shiver of dread he awoke. The cart was standingstill, and, at the side of the road, reposed the carter overcome bysleep. By his side lay his drinking-horn. With trembling limbs WalterSkinner climbed down from the cart. Then, seizing the carter's horn, heuntied his horse, which was fastened to the tail of the cart, andmounted; took from the horn a long drink, and once more set out at afurious pace which shortly became once more a slow one. Pausing onlylong enough at St. Albans to procure breakfast for himself and a feedfor his horse, he continued on to London which he reached late in theafternoon. But he did not go in at New Gate, for, making a sharp turnat St. Andrew's, he went south till he came to Fleet street, when,turning to the left, he entered the city through Lud Gate. Clad in hisscullion's garb, and with his face flushed from drink he presented astrange appearance as he permitted his horse to carry him whither hewould through the narrow streets.

  "Here be people enough," he said to himself, "and yea, verily, here benoise enough. But I will stop all that when I be Lord Mayor. What!shall mine ears ring with vile din? If so be I would speak to my horsecould he hear me? Nay, that he could not. When I be Lord Mayor no smithshall strike on anvil in my presence. And when I pass by, let thecarpenters cease to drive their nails; let all the armorers cease theirhammering; let the coopers forbear to hoop their casks; and then can Igather my wits together, which is more than I can now do."He was right as to the din; for here in these narrow lanes thecraftsmen lived and worked. Each one had his tenement of one room aboveand one below. In the one below he worked, or in the street, and in theroom above he dwelt with his family.

  As he went uncertainly up one of these narrow lanes and down another,leading north or south out of Cheapside, as the case might be, therabble began to gather about him and to bait him with jeers of varioussorts.

  "Why, how now!" he exclaimed, when he had once more come intoCheapside. And he put on his fiercest air, which sat strangely enoughon one clad as a scullion. "Do ye gibe and jeer at me who am servant tothe king? What know ye of young runaway lords and Saxon serving-men?And the perils of a long way, and the keeper of the Shorn Lamb? I couldopen your eyes for ye, if I thought it worth my while. But ye be allbase-born knaves--"

  The last words were but out of his mouth when a strong hand jerked himto the ground. And, not seeing what he did, as he struck fiercely out,his clenched fist landed on the chest of the warden who was passing,and Walter Skinner was promptly seized and about to be haled off topunishment.

  Cheapside was the principal market-place of London. It was broad, andbordered on each side by booths or sheds for the sale of merchandise. Asudden disturbance attracted the attention of the bailiff who heldWalter Skinner. And, even as he turned his head to look, the very manthat had dragged Walter Skinner from his horse detached the little manfrom the grasp of the careless officer, and bade him flee. "Flee away,thou half-drunken scullion," said his liberator. "Thou dost lack thywits, and so I would not have thee also lack thy liberty."

  Now Walter Skinner was in that condition when, although he could notwalk straight, he could run. And away he went, his first impetuscarrying him well down into Bow Lane, which opened from Cheapside tothe south, where he speedily brought up against a curb post and fellinto the gutter. His appearance was not improved when he rose, but hestarted again, and took this time, not the curb post, but a stoutfarmer. The farmer instinctively bracing himself to meet the shock ofWalter Skinner's fall against him, no harm was done; but he whirledround, grasped the little terrified rascal by the shoulder, and hurriedhim into the adjacent inn yard. "Had I been an old woman or a youngchild I might have been sprawling in the gutter," he began severely,"and all because of thee. What account givest thou of thyself?"

  "Thou art but a yeoman," returned Walter Skinner, disdainfully. "Anddost thou ask me to account to thee? Account thou to me, sirrah. Whatdidst thou in the street standing there like a gutter post to obstructthe way of passengers in haste? But for thee I had been well sped on myway."

  The farmer heard him in amazement. Then he said: "I do perceive thatthou art a fool; and with fools I never meddle." And seizing him oncemore by the shoulder, he thrust him into the street. "Speed on thy way,little braggart," he said, "even till thou comest to thy master, whomust be the Evil One himself."

  Walter Skinner sped away, by degrees slacking his pace till, after muchwandering, he came to a low public house on Thames Street, where heslipped in, hid himself in a corner, and went fast asleep. It was noonof the next day before he was discovered and routed out by a tapster."This be no place for a scullion," said the tapster. "Get to thyduties."

  "I be no scullion," retorted Walter Skinner, indignantly. "Till now Iwas the king's man with good hope to be a duke or the mayor of London."

  "I go to tell master of thee," returned the tapster. "And he will setthee to scour knives in a trice."

  The tapster was as good as his word, and Walter Skinner, much againsthis will, was soon at work. "Here be another degradation," he mutteredover his knife blades, "and I stand it not. I be not so mean-spiritedas to labor, nor to do the bidding of other men who should do mine." Sosaying, he stole from the kitchen and the house into the streets, wherehe became a vagabond, and so remained, along with thousands of otherslike unto him.

  Meanwhile Hugo and Humphrey and old Bartlemy were having troubles oftheir own. The places in London suitable for them to stop at which oldB
artlemy knew proved to be known to him by report only. And, lackingthe present help of him whom Humphrey was pleased to call Bartlemy's"friend to his counsel," the whole party soon knew not where to go; forthe old man had lost the energy with which he had escorted them toLondon, and seemed to have sunk back into the semi-helpless mixture ofshrewdness and credulity which he appeared when Hugo and Humphrey hadfirst met him. One thing, and one only, seemed to engross most of hisattention, and that was Humphrey's mole. And he was ever prating of thefortune it was sure to bring him.

  "Lad," said Humphrey at last, when they had been two days in the town,"if we are to come safely off we must be rid of him. The gumming up ofthe horses' manes and the braiding of their tails have already made theinnkeeper look strangely at us. Had he not set it down as the trick ofsome malicious groom, it had been worse for us. And I do fear the oldman's babbling tongue. I will sound him to see how much will contenthim, and perchance from thy pouch and mine the sum may be made up."

  Old Bartlemy was growing weary of his woman's dress, and weary ofhovering around Hugo in the assumed capacity of his nurse. He was notin his apartment when Humphrey went to seek him, and further searchrevealed the fact that he was not in the house. So, somewhat disturbed,Humphrey went forth to find him, taking with him in his bosom Hugo'spouch as well as his own. The inn where they were now stopping was theWhite Horse in Lombard Street, and as Humphrey issued forth into thestreet he knew not which way to turn. "The old nurse did go southtoward the waterside," volunteered a groom, who observed Humphrey'shesitation. "She seemeth like one that lacketh wit, and so I did keep awatch upon her till she went beyond my sight."

  Humphrey flung the groom a penny and went south himself at a good gait."If he be not at some public house I shall find him at a cock-fighting,no doubt," said Humphrey to himself. It was now the second day of Julyand clear and warm. The streets were full of hucksters having for sale,besides their usual wares, summer fruits and vegetables. But to alltheir cries Humphrey turned a deaf ear as he pushed impatiently on,keeping a sharp lookout for old Bartlemy. And what was his amazement tocome upon him at last at the river side clad, not as the nurse, but inhis own proper character.

  "How now!" exclaimed Humphrey, with a frown. "Where is thy woman'sgarb? And what meanest thou to cast it aside in this manner?"

  The old man peered up at him with a sly look on his face. "Ay, thoumayest storm," he said; "but if I be tired of woman's garb, what isthat to thee?"

  "Why, this," returned Humphrey. "Thou dost endanger our heads by thischange."

  The old man shook his head and smiled a silly smile. "Nay," he madeanswer. "I would not endanger thy head, for that would endanger themole upon thy nose, and so my fortune. Thou doest me wrong."

  Humphrey looked at him attentively and saw that a temporary weakness ofmind due to his age had overtaken him. So he said in a soothing tone:"Where didst thou leave thy nurse's garb? I pray thee put it on again."

  Again there came the sly look over the old man's withered face. "I doknow where I did leave it," he said; "but I put it not on again. Thefriend I have to my counsel did bid me put it on, and I did obey him,for he is a magician. But I like it not, and I will wear it no more.Why, look thou," he continued earnestly. "When I wear it I must remainwith the young lord, and be not free to consort with other men, and seeand hear all that goeth on. Wherefore I will wear it no more."

  Humphrey looked at him in despair. Then he said with assumedcheerfulness: "I will now make thy fortune for thee. So mayest thoureturn to the wood while we journey on."

  Old Bartlemy, as he listened, smiled with the delight of a child. "Saidnot the fortune-teller truly?" he cried. "And how much is my fortunethat thou wilt make?"

  "Why, that I hardly can tell," returned Humphrey. "What callest thou afortune?"

  Old Bartlemy looked at him craftily. "The friend to my counsel did sayone hundred and fifty gold pieces, and that will pay for thedisguises."

  "No less?" asked Humphrey.

  "Nay," returned old Bartlemy. "If thou dost leave me, I may never seethe mole upon thy nose again. Therefore pay to me the one hundred andfifty gold pieces before I ask thee more. For the friend to my counseldid say, 'Take no less, and as much more as thou canst get.'"

  "Thou art hard to content," said Humphrey. "But come thou to thenearest reputable inn, where we may be unwatched, and I will pay tothee the one hundred and fifty gold pieces which thou dost require.Should they of the street see thee receive it, thou wouldst not keep itlong."

  The old man, with a crafty shake of the head, followed along inHumphrey's wake. "I have the wit to keep my fortune," he said. "No manmay wrest it from me."

  Without further words Humphrey led the way, his mind full of anxiousthoughts as to how he was to get himself, Hugo, and the horses awayfrom the White Horse in Lombard Street without rousing suspicion whenthe mule of old Bartlemy was left behind and the old man himself in hischaracter of nurse was missing. He was still busily thinking when theycame to a respectable little inn called the Hart. Turning to oldBartlemy, who was following close behind, he said, "Here do we stoptill I pay thee what thou hast asked."

  Old Bartlemy said nothing, but he rubbed his hands together in delight,and kept so close to Humphrey that he almost trod on his heels.

  "Now," said Humphrey, when they were alone and the old man had beenpaid, "I ask thee this grace, Bartlemy. Wilt thou not once more put onthe nurse's garb and come back with me to the White Horse till I canpay the reckoning and get away? After that thou mayest cast it asideand wear it no more."

  "Nay," replied old Bartlemy, jingling the gold pieces and looking atthem with gloating eyes. "Nay, I will put on woman's dress no more."

  "Not if I pay thee to do so?"

  "Nay. I have here my fortune. What have I need of more?" And he satdown obstinately and became at once absorbed in counting over his goldpieces.

  Humphrey, seeing that nothing was to be gained, and anxious for Hugo'swelfare, at once left the room and the house and set out for the WhiteHorse.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  Through the same crowded streets, and entirely unmindful of the peoplewho jostled him, Humphrey mechanically pushed his way on his returnjourney. How should he and Hugo get away from the White Horse? He knewvery little of the world, but this much he knew, that for them toattempt to leave with the old nurse missing would be to thoroughlyarouse the suspicion which, so far, was half dormant.

  "I will pay the reckoning now," he said to himself as he entered theinn yard. "And then we must do as we can to give them the slip. I knownot why, but dreams be slow to come in this town. I would we weresafely out of it."

  He had but just paid it, and the innkeeper was about to inquireconcerning his departure, when a great excitement arose. One of thefrequent fires, for which the London of that day was noted, had brokenout.

  "A fire, sayest thou?" cried Humphrey.

  "Yea," answered a groom, bursting into the bar. "A fire, master! afire!"

  Away ran the groom followed by the master. And Hugo coming down at thismoment, Humphrey hurried to him. "Make haste, lad!" he cried. "Comewith me to the stables. We must e'en serve ourselves and get out thehorses and be off, ere the fire abate and the innkeeper and the groomscome back."

  Hugo wondered, but said nothing, for he saw that Humphrey was greatlyexcited. And with despatch the horses were saddled and led out. "Iwould not that people lose their homes unless they must," saidHumphrey, when they were safely away; "but the fire hath saved us, andI warrant thee we pay not one hundred and fifty gold pieces for thesaving neither."

  "Didst pay so much?" asked Hugo.

  "Yea, lad," answered Humphrey. "It seemeth the 'friend to his counsel'did set the price he was to ask, and nothing less would content him. Hedid even hint at more."

  "And how much remaineth?" asked Hugo.

  "But fifty gold pieces, lad. We be now near our journey's end. Mayhapthey be enough."

  "Yea," replied Hugo, thoughtfully. "I must not go to the priory of theHoly Trinity un
less I have great need. So said my uncle to me."

  "And where is that, lad?"

  "Here in London. It is a powerful and wealthy priory, but my uncle didsay it is as well to pass it by if I can."

  "Mind thou thine uncle, lad. But whither go we now?"

  "To Dover. Then do we take ship to France."

  They had now come to the new London bridge which was of stone. Over itthey went, and had just started on their journey from its southern endwhen, in haste, old Bartlemy, clad as the nurse, arrived at the WhiteHorse. He had slowly and laboriously counted his gold pieces threetimes before it occurred to him that one hundred and fifty of thesetreasures was no great sum. And that, if he did as Humphrey hadrequested, he would be able to add other gold pieces to his store. Thusthinking, he had repaired to the hiding-place of his disguise, put iton, and set out.

  At the same moment of his arrival the innkeeper came back, and a littlelater the grooms began to straggle in.

  Old Bartlemy, however, paid no attention to who came in or who wentout. His sole concern was to find Humphrey. Not succeeding, he appealedto the innkeeper to know what was become of him.

  "Why, that I know not," replied the innkeeper, indifferently. "Mostlike he hath not yet returned from the fire."

  Impatiently old Bartlemy, forgetting that he was a woman, and nurse toa young lady of the better sort, sat down in the inn yard upon a bench.And ever and anon as no Humphrey appeared he got up and mingled withthe knots of other men standing about, only to return to his seat.Finally he could restrain himself no longer, but eagerly began toinquire of all newcomers as to the whereabouts of Humphrey. Now whilehis were questions which no man could answer, they were put in such amanner as to make men stare curiously upon him. For they were suchquestions as one man would ask of another, and not the timid inquiriesof an ignorant old woman. Finally, one of the bystanders more daringthan the rest advanced, and boldly turned back the hood of the head-rail,letting it hang down over his shoulders, and the head of an oldman was revealed. A murmur of surprise and expectation now ran throughthe crowd, and the same bold hand bodily removed the head-rail and therobe beneath it; and there stood old Bartlemy in his gray woollentunic, his legs bare from the knees down, and his feet encased in skinshoes reaching to his ankles.

  "Well done, mother!" cried the bold revealer of his identity. "And nowdo thou tell us speedily who is this esquire Humphrey whom thouseekest. Mayhap he is as little an esquire as thou art an old woman."

  Bartlemy looked from face to face, but he answered nothing.

  At this moment a groom came running from the stables. "Master! master!"he cried, addressing the innkeeper, "the horse of the esquire Humphreybe gone."

  "Gone, sirrah!" repeated the innkeeper. "And whither is he gone?"

  "Why, that I know not, master. I only know that the horse of the younglady did bear him company. But the mule of the nurse is still there,wherefore there is no thievery, since he did take but his own."

  The bystanders now crowded more closely around Bartlemy, with theinnkeeper at the front as questioner. "Tell us truly, old man," saidthe innkeeper, threateningly; "who is this esquire Humphrey, and whois the young lady that beareth him company? Make haste with thineanswer, or it shall be worse for thee."

  "Why," replied old Bartlemy, slowly, as his gaze wandered from face toface, "the esquire is the false priest from Oundle, and the young ladyis his novice."

  At this reply a man from the rear elbowed his way to the side of theinnkeeper. "I know not how it may please thee," he said, "but, on theWatling Street by the meat market two days and more agone, a man with abailiff to his help did stop a priest and his novice. And he did actlike a madman when he did discover that he had stopped the wrongpersons, and prated of a reward from the king which he must lose."

  Old Bartlemy grinned as he listened. Seeing which the innkeeper pouncedupon him. "Were these the priest and his novice?" he asked fiercely.

  "Yea, verily," answered old Bartlemy, proudly. "And they would havebeen caught but for me. And now I know not whither they be gone," headded disconsolately. "And perchance I shall see them no more; norshall I see the mole on the nose of the good Humphrey more; and so,farewell to the fortune it might bring me."

  "And who is the young lady?" said the innkeeper, with a fierce look.

  "Why, she be a fine lad," replied old Bartlemy.

  The innkeeper reflected amid a low hum of comment. Then he turned onthe man who had told him of the priest and his novice. "Thou sayest theking hath a reward for this priest and his novice?" he asked.

  "Yea."

  "And who be they?" asked the innkeeper.

  "They are like to be as little priest and his novice as they be esquireand young lady. Who be they, I say?"

  "I had speech later with the bailiff, and he did say that the priestwas a Saxon serving-man, and the novice was the young lord, JoscelineDe Aldithely, escaping to his father."

  "After them! after them!" cried the innkeeper, furiously. "They be aprize!"

  In the hurly-burly and din that now arose old Bartlemy slipped out tothe stables, got possession of his mule, and rode off unnoticed.

  There were in the London of this time many great town houses of thenobles. And that of Lord De Launay was situated in Lombard Street, notfar from the White Horse. To it he went riding, at this moment, with asmall retinue in livery. He looked in surprise at the commotion beforethe White Horse, and beckoning a retainer he said, "Find me the meaningof this uproar." Then he rode slowly on to his home.

  He had but entered the great square courtyard when the retainer came inon a gallop. "Your lordship, it be this," he said. "They have but juststruck the trail of the young Lord De Aldithely and will presently runhim to earth, hoping for the reward offered by the king. He rideth nowdisguised as a lady, and the serving-man rideth as his esquire."

  Now Lord De Launay was he who in the guise of a scullion had set WalterSkinner free, and all for the friendship he bore Josceline's father. Socalling up twenty of his men-at-arms he sent them in pursuit. "No doubtthey ride to Dover," he said. "Make haste to come up with them. Bid theyoung lord cast aside his woman's garb, and stay ye by them as anescort on the road. Leave them not till they be safely aboard ship andoff to France."

  The men-at-arms of Lord De Launay were of the best of that time, beingboth bold and faithful, and their master stood but little in awe of theking. Not that he openly flouted the king's authority, but that, at alltimes, he dared to pursue the course that seemed to him best. And thishe could do for two reasons; he pursued it quietly, and the king felt alittle fear of him. Moreover, the king did not discover how much heowed to him for the thwarting of his plans. Else, powerful noble thoughhe was, Lord De Launay would have been punished.

  Meanwhile, Hugo and Humphrey were making the best of their way, andstopping not to look to the right hand nor to the left. After themgalloped the men-at-arms, and not many miles out of the city theyovertook them.

  Upon their approach the fugitives gave themselves up as lost. "Lad,"said Humphrey, despairingly, "we have done our best, and we be taken atlast. No doubt these be the king's men-at-arms that ride so swiftlyupon our track. See how they be armed, and how their horses stride!"

  Hugo looked over his shoulder, and his face was pale. But there was noregret in his heart for the attempt he had made to save Josceline, eventhough the king's dungeon seemed now to open before him. He saidnothing, and a moment later the men-at-arms swept up and surroundedthem, their leader saluting Hugo, much to the boy's surprise. "My lordbids thee cast aside thy woman's dress," said he, "and ride in thineown character."

  "And who art thou? And who is thy lord? And wherefore art thou come?"demanded Humphrey, bravely, as he spurred his horse between Hugo andthe man-at-arms who had spoken.

  The man-at-arms laughed. "I see thou hast cause to dread pursuit," hesaid. "And, in truth, we did pass some vile knaves riding fast toovertake ye. One and all they do hope for the king's reward, for theold man at the White Horse hath betrayed ye." />
  Closer to Hugo's side Humphrey reined his horse, and the captain of themen-at-arms laughed louder than before. "Why, what couldst thou do forthe lad against us?" he said. "And yet, thou art brave to try. But putaway thy fears. Lord De Launay is, as thou shouldst know, the swornfriend of Lord De Aldithely, and he hath sent us to overtake ye and tocarry ye safe to the ship at Dover. So let us on and set a merry pacefor these knaves that would follow us. But first, off with that woman'srobe, my young lord Josceline."

  "Willingly!" cried Hugo, who did not even now betray the secret that hewas not Josceline, not knowing what might come of it. And he threw offhood, cloak, and robe while Humphrey looked from the captain to the boyand back again. But without a word to the faithful serving-man, thecaptain gave the command to the troop, and immediately all were inswift motion.

  A mile was left behind them,--two miles,--and now Humphrey looked atHugo amazed. Among these men-at-arms who treated him with a respectwhich was like an elixir to him, the boy sat transformed. He heldhimself proudly, and seemed, as he sat, a part of his horse. Hishandsome eyes shone, and a genial smile parted his lips.

  "Who art thou, dear lad?" thought Humphrey. "And though that I cannottell, yet this I know, thou art the equal of any De Aldithely." Andthen Hugo's eyes fell upon him, and they filled with a most kindlylight.

  Meanwhile the motley crowd that had started in pursuit from the WhiteHorse had become appreciably thinned upon the road. For one was norider, and was promptly pitched over his horse's head. Another, in hishaste, had but imperfectly saddled his horse, so that he was speedilyat the side of the road with his horse gone. Others had chosen poormounts that could go but slowly, being waggoners' horses and notaccustomed to any but a slow motion.

  All these, with disappointment, saw the hope of the king's rewardslipping from them, and looked with envy upon the few who passed themand vanished from their sight, with determination written on theirfaces. Yet even these were destined to failure and, before Rochesterwas reached, were fain to turn back, having seen nothing of those whomthey sought.

  But the troop of men-at-arms with Hugo and Humphrey still sped, haltingfor the night in a safe spot, and rising betimes in the morning tohurry on, until, their duty done, and the two safely aboard, theyturned back at their leisure.

  And all this time, upon the sea going down from Scotland was a shipwhich bore Lady De Aldithely and Josceline. Even in the wilds ofScotland she could not rest, knowing that no spot would remainunsearched if it should be discovered that it was Hugo Aungerville andnot Josceline who had fled to France. So she and her son had embarked,and, two days before Hugo and Humphrey, they reached Lord De Aldithely.And there they found William Lorimer and his men-at-arms, but, to LadyDe Aldithely's distress, no Hugo nor tidings of him.

  "What lad is this thou speakest of?" asked Lord De Aldithely.

  And then Lady De Aldithely told him all. "And his name," she ended, "isHugo Aungerville. Knowest thou aught of him?"

  "I should," replied Lord De Aldithely. "Though I have never seen him, Ido know he must be the son of my cousin, Eleanor De Aldithely; for hehath her brave spirit, and her husband was Hugo Aungerville. And thelad shall be knighted or ever he arrive. For if he elude the kingsuccessfully and on such an errand, risking his own life to save thatof another, he hath won his spurs."

  Thus it was that when Hugo came welcome was waiting for him in the warmhearts of his kinsfolk. And when he had received his spurs, and Lord DeAldithely asked him what reward he could give him for saving Joscelinefrom the king's hands, the boy smiled archly upon the faithful Humphreywho stood by. "I do ask thee," he said, "that Humphrey may be myesquire."

  And from that day Humphrey, a serving-man no longer, followed his dearlad, not only in France, but later in England, when Magna Charta hadbeen signed, and it was safe for them all to return.

  THE END