“Till winter? I tell you, Roger, we’re happy if we have a satisfactory peace in the land two full years hence.” “You’re out there, Captain. These gallants of the king’s will stand to fight here no better than they stood against the Scots. They’ll be beat to cover ere snow fall—” “Pshaw!” replied Oldesworth, convincingly. “Look you here, Roger.” Thereupon the two fell to discussing the king’s resources and those of Parliament, and comparing the merits of commanders, and quoting the opinions of leaders, till Hugh tired of it all and strolled away. He passed slowly down the line of stalls, caressing the soft muzzles of the kindly horses, and lingered a time to admire the big black charger that belonged to Captain Oldesworth. In the next stall stood a clean-limbed bay, which thrust out its head as if expecting notice; Hugh hesitated, then began stroking the velvety nose, when Peregrine swaggered up to him with a grand, “Don’t worry that horse of mine, Hugh.” “I was not worrying him,” Hugh answered hotly. “But you can be sure I’ll never touch him again.” He turned and walked away toward the open door. “Oh, you can touch him now and then,” Peregrine replied, as he followed after him out into the courtyard, where the rain had somewhat abated. “But he’s too brave a beast for you youngsters to be meddling with all the time. You’d spoil his temper.” Then, as Hugh still kept a sulky silence, his cousin asked abruptly, “What’s amiss with you to-day?” “Nothing.” “You’ve not been friendly of late. I believe you are jealous that I have a commission.” “I do not want your commission,” Hugh replied, and to show he spoke the truth he forced a laugh and tried to say carelessly, as he might have said a month before, “Tell you what I do want, though: a new flint for my pistol. Will you not give me one, Peregrine?” “Are you going to shoot Cavaliers?” the elder boy asked, as he halted to fumble in his pockets. “Maybe.” Peregrine drew out three bits of flint, turned them in his hand, then gave the least perfect to Hugh. “I took it from my new pistol this morning,” he explained. “’Tis good enough for any service you’ll need of it.” Hugh bit his lip, but with a muttered word of thanks took the flint. “I was furbishing up my weapons this morning,” Peregrine went on. “We go on real service next week; we determined on it yesterday at the conference.” “I thought Uncle Tom said the troop would not be in fit condition to serve for a fortnight.” “Not all the troop. But Uncle Tom, and I, and Lieutenant Ingram, are to take some thirty men that are in trim and go into Staffordshire to see what can be done among the godly people thereabouts.”