"Nay, Master Corporal, do not give yourself the futile trouble of traversing the muddy road," said Mr Inch, sententiously. "John Stich is a loyal subject of King George, and by my faith! he would not harbourgate a rebel, take my word for it. Although, mind you, Mr Corporal, I have oft suspicionated..." Mr Inch, the beadle, looked cautiously round; all the pompousness of his manner had vanished in a trice. His broad face beneath the bob-tailed wig and three-cornered hat looked like a rosy receptacle of mysterious information, as he laid his fat hand on the Corporal’s sleeve. The straggling groups of yokels were fast disappearing down the muddy tracks; some were returning to Brassington, others were tramping Aldwark way; one wizened, solitary figure was slowly toiling up the road, little more than a quagmire, that led northwards across the Heath towards Stretton Hall. The soldiers stood at attention some fifteen yards away, mute and disinterested. From the shed beyond the cottage there suddenly came the sound of the blacksmith’s hammer upon his anvil. Mr Inch felt secure from observation. "I have oft suspicionated John Stich, the smith, of befriending the foot-pads and highwaymen that haunt this God-forsaken Moor," he said, with an air of excited importance, rolling his beady eyes. "Nay," laughed the Corporal, good-humouredly, as he shook off Master Inch’s fat hand. "You’d best not whisper this confidence to John Stich himself. As I live, he would crack your skull for you, Master Beadle, aye, be it ever so full of dictionary words. John Stich is an honest man, I tell you," he added with a pleasant oath, "the most honest this side of the county, and don’t you forget it." But Mr Inch did not approve of the young soldier’s tone of familiarity. He drew up his five feet of broad stature to their full height. "Nay, but I designated no harm," he said, with offended dignity. "John Stich is a worthy fellow, and I spoke of no ordinary foot-pads. My mind," he added, dwelling upon that mysterious possession with conscious pride, "my mind, I may say, was dominating on Beau Brocade." "Beau Brocade!!!" And the Corporal laughed with obvious incredulity, which further nettled Mr Inch, the beadle. "Aye, Beau Brocade," he said hotly, "the malicious, pernicious, damned rascal, who gives us, that representate the majesty of the law, a mighty deal of trouble." "Indeed?" sneered the Corporal. "I dare swear that down at Derby," retorted Mr Inch, spitefully, "you have not even heard of that personage." "Oh! we know well enough that Brassing Moor harbours more miscreants than any corner of the county," laughed the young soldier, "but methought Beau Brocade only existed in the imagination of your half-witted yokels about here."