A small party of strong sunburnt fen labourers were seated on the rough benches in front of mine host’s ancient house of entertainment, some of them swarthy, black-bearded men, others with light tawny hair and blue eyes. True types of the hardy race were they; their strong, uncovered brown arms, which had all day long been working under a baking sun, upon a shadeless flat, telling a tale of sinewy power that came not a jot under the renowned strength of their mighty ancestors. Mine host himself, a ruddy-faced man of middle age, was there too, smoking a long well-coloured pipe, and gazing in a thoughtful way across the long stretch of fen, over which the shades of night were steadily creeping. ‘What be ye gaping at, master?’ quoth one of the brawny labourers, as the landlord shaded his eyes with his hand and endeavoured to make out some indistinct object. ‘What’re ye looking after, Hobb?’ asked another one in a bantering tone. ‘Can’t ye believe your own eyes, man?’ ‘Nay, Swenson, I can’t,’ returned mine host, lowering his hand and turning to the person who addressed him. ‘I want a good pair sadly.’ ‘You’re like to get ’em staring over the fen in that way, my boy!’ remarked Swenson with a hoarse laugh. ‘Lend me your eyes here, Harold,’ went on the innkeeper. ‘Take a squint across that bank and tell me what you see.’ ‘What be the good o’ askin’ me?’ returned the man. ‘I can’t tell a barn-door from a peat-stack at fifty yards’ distance.’ ‘I’ll tell ye, Dipping,’ cried a young sunburnt giant, starting up from the bench on which he had been sitting. ‘Where is’t?’ ‘You see yon tall willow?’ ‘Him as sticks up there by the dike?’ ‘Ay. Look out there to the left o’ it, across the fen, and tell me what ye see.’ The fellow’s blue eyes were directed with an earnest gaze towards the distant spot which the landlord pointed out; and then he turned sharply round and exclaimed: ‘It be two horsemen.’ ‘Are ye sure?’ asked mine host, as he bent his brows and vainly tried to make out the far-off speck. ‘Quite sure,’ was the reply. ‘They’re coming up the road by the old North Lode.—There; now they’re passing One Man’s Mill.’ ‘I see ’em!’ exclaimed Swenson, pointing towards a solitary windmill, the jagged sails of which formed a slight break in the long line of misty flatness. ‘Perchance they be travellers, and will want beds for the night,’ said mine host, roused to action by the mere possibility of such an event occurring. ‘I will see that the place is got ready for them.’ ‘Hobb Dipping is soon counting his chickens,’ remarked one of the uncouth fenmen, laughing, as the landlord of the _Saxonford Arms_ disappeared. ‘Ay, it’s like him all over,’ rejoined Swenson, while he gathered up some implements and prepared to go.—‘Are ye coming with me, Harold?’ ‘No, my boy; I’m agoing to stop and see who yon horsemen may be. News are scarce in these parts. If you’re off now, why, good-night to ye.’