"You were not peevish; it was all of your grace and favour that you chid me, for you would say no word to any one else in the house at all! And when you had done with chiding I was as proud and happy as a king. I have never forgotten my little playfellow. But now, madam," cried he, rising with a sudden change of tone, "I pray you set me some task to do; I cannot lounge here in idleness and see you serving." "Good lack," said she, "I know not what labours to set you to; for you must surely not go outside the house lest you should be noted." "But I thought no one ever came here save the crows and the gulls," he answered. "Human folk come not often, indeed; but of them one were too many. Also, latterly, there have been more strangers on the road, tramping from Lynn--pedlars, and fiddlers, and such like--and small pity have they on our hen-roosts. And if any such wandered hither and saw you, they might tattle." "You are right," he answered gravely, "I will put you to no needless risks, yet somewhat I must do to keep----" He broke off suddenly. "Your pistols are in sorry case, Mistress Perrient," he went on in a gayer tone. "I pray you let me clean them." "'Tis five long years since they were touched," she answered; "not since the day of the blue-coated serving-men you saw come riding out of a ballad. Take them, sir, the pretty toys may serve to while away a dull day." The laughter faded from Harrison's face as he sat in his chamber oiling the pistols. The smooth touch of the trigger under his finger, and the click of the lock, brought back the memory of many a past fight when hope was high and blood was warm. "Truly we fought our best," he murmured, "and no man counted the cost or grudged his blood to the cause. Was it indeed in vain? What does this people care for liberty, when they are even now holding festival over the forging of their new chains!" He was roused from his brooding by steps under the window. From the shelter of the curtain Harrison saw a swaggering figure in tawdry finery lurch into the yard where Audrey was scouring her milk-cans by the pump. It was a figure he remembered only too well. What cursed chance had brought that knave Astbury begging at Inglethorpe? And was it chance? The rascal might have dogged him. Richard pressed close to the window and listened. "Good mistress," began the whining voice, "here is a poor soldier, come home after his blessed majesty, and hath ne'er a groat to carry him up to London to seek the king's grace." Audrey's first words in answer were inaudible; but then her voice rose higher. "I tell you I have nought here for you. Go down to the cottage yonder, and perchance the good wife may find you some broken meat."