A fine, fresh, autumnal morning gladdened Charles and his fair companion as they set out from Long Marston. The king was in excellent spirits, and laughed at his adventures on the previous night. After passing Church Honeybourne and Weston Subedge, they ascended Dover's Hill, on which the renowned Cotswold Games, sung by Ben Jonson and Drayton, were celebrated in the time of the king's grandsire, but were discontinued on the outbreak of the Civil Wars. While crossing this hill, which had been the scene of so many pleasant gatherings in former days, Charles promised himself that if he ever ruled the land those manly sports should be revived. From this eminence they looked down upon the fair and fertile valley in which Chipping-Campden is situated, and after enjoying the delightful prospect for a short time, they descended from the uplands and rode towards the pleasant old town. Chipping-Campden, at the period of our story, was a great mart for wool; and it chanced that on this very day a large sheep fair was held in the vicinity of the town. Numerous flocks of sheep driven by shepherds and attended by farmers, mounted on horses as rough-looking as themselves, beset the road. As Charles rode on, hoping to pass through the throng unmolested, the sheep-breeders pressed around him, each vaunting the excellence of his fleeces, and affirming that he had the best sheep on the Cotswolds. Jane took upon herself to answer, and explained that they were merely travellers, and did not desire to purchase wool. The explanation did not prove altogether satisfactory, and the churlish farmers began to eye the supposed groom suspiciously. "Thee warn't bred on the Wowlds," remarked one of them. "Where dost come from?" "Why, thou'rt as fierce as a Cotswold lion, and that's a sheep," rejoined Charles. "What be it to thee where I come from?" "Thou look'st as sharp as if thou lived on Tewkesbury mustard," cried the farmer. "And I should take thee to be a man of Dursley," responded Charles, who was acquainted with some of the local proverbs. "Why, there he has hit thee, Guy Naunton," cried another of the farmers. "I never knowed thee keep a promise." "I never broke my word to thee, Mat Mickleton, or to any one else," rejoined Naunton, angrily. "Did any of you ever join the sports on Dover's Hill?" cried Charles. "Why dost ask?" cried Mickleton. "Because I would challenge one and all of you to run, leap, wrestle, or use the quarter-staff," rejoined Charles. "There be no more Cotswold Games now--more's the pity!" cried Mickleton. "But I be ready and willing to try a bowt with thee at quarter-staff." "No, no, Will Jones," interposed Jane. "Pass on thy way. Thou wilt get into a brawl with these men." "Thy groom be a saucy knave, and shall give an account of himself to the town bailiff," said Naunton. "Keep thy hands off my bridle, or I will lay my whip on thy shoulders," cried Charles, sharply.