Now and then Gabriel, as he awaited his turn, heard sounds of merriment from within the Castle walls, and as Sandy slid down the rope a distant echo of “The Boar’s Head” chorus floated up to him. His hearing seemed to have become preternaturally acute, and he shivered a little when through the frosty air he heard the guard at the main entrance whistling the refrain. And now at length Sandy stood on the bank below and Gabriel’s turn had come. With a heart beating high with hope and excitement he let himself over the wall, and grasping the rope swung in mid air, descending hand over hand, while the distant sound of the singers within floated back to him: The Boar’s head, as I understand, Is the bravest dish in all the land. He alighted safely in the snow, and found his arm gripped by Humphrey Neal, then as the chorus of the carol was shouted out they cautiously made their way over the frozen millstream, and were just scrambling up the opposite bank when the sharp barking of a dog startled them into anxious listening once more. Crouching among the bushes, they heard a discussion being held by the guard, and trembled lest a sentry should pass along to the spot on the walls where their rope was made fast. It was now that Sandy came to their aid, for he knew the dog and coaxed it to his side, fondling it into quiet and good humour. By this time the other prisoners had safely disappeared in the gathering twilight of the short December day. They resolved to linger no more, but, bidding Sandy follow, began to walk rapidly to the other side of the city, choosing, as far as might be, the back streets and alleys. Some wandering minstrels on a round of carol-singing before long attracted their notice, and they observed that one of the company lingered far behind the others, rolling about unsteadily as he walked, and tipsily twanging his lute. When by-and-by his companions trooped into an alehouse, he wandered aimlessly along by himself, swearing profusely, yet occasionally chanting a boisterous refrain of “Noel--Noel,” in a fashion that made Humphrey laugh heartily. “In ten minutes the fellow must fall into the kennel,” he said, gaily, “and, if so, he may prove of use to us. Ay, to be sure! I knew he couldn’t stagger on much longer.” “Don’t belabour me like that,” groaned the minstrel, apostrophising the stones, “I was keeping the best of time. ‘Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel!’ my throat’s on fire. We’ll have a stoup at the ‘Pig and Whistle.’” “As many as you please,” said Humphrey, cheerfully. “But, in the meantime, we will do your carolling for you. I’ll trouble you for the lute, and--yes, you may as well spare your hat, too!” Laughing at the placid way in which the minstrel fell asleep on his stony bed, Humphrey tucked the lute under his arm, clapped the felt hat on to Gabriel’s bare head and hurried down the street.