“Here, lad,” said Joscelyn Heyworth, beckoning to a small boy who was playing hop scotch as unconcernedly as though there were no such things as wars and fightings amongst them, “guide us to the house of Manoah Mills and serve one who suffers that you may live in safety.” The boy looked with awe at the bloodstained soldier on the litter and leading the way up the street knocked at the door of a gabled house, then stood aside as Tibbie appeared, and pointed her to the little group in the road. “Woe worth the day!” she cried, running out with a face of pity. “Why,’tis Mr. Gabriel Harford that was our guest.” “Can you tend him and give him a bed to lie on while I fetch the surgeon?” said Joscelyn Heyworth. “He’s badly hurt, and hath lain out in the frost all night.” “Bring him in, sir,” said Tibbie. “He shall have the best bed in the house. Lord ha’ mercy on us! To think that one so young should lie at death’s door.” “Don’t tell him that,” said Joscelyn Heyworth. “An he thinks he’s lying at the door, he will be minded to step inside.” Very gently he set down his comrade in the room that Tibbie showed him, and took it as a good omen that his words called up an amused look in the dark hazel eyes which mutely thanked him for his help. He had great hopes that the battle would be resumed and a more decisive action promptly fought out, but in this he was doomed to be disappointed. The day was spent in burying the dead and attending to the wounded and then the Royalist forces withdrew, while the Parliamentary army rested that night at Kineton. Joscelyn Heyworth, finding himself with free time on his hands, went to the saddler’s house again. Tibbie reported well of the patient, who, having had his wound attended to by the surgeon, had spent the greater part of the day in sleep, but was now, as she expressed it, “Turning contrairy, just like a man, and thinking himself worse when in truth he was mending.” “I will take a turn at watching by him,” said Joscelyn. “You have had a hard day’s work.” “Well, sir,” said Tibbie; “I’ll not deny that I’d as lief have a night’s rest. My man’s with him now; I’ll show you up.” She led the way to the room to which the wounded man had been carried, and as she opened the door the voice of Manoah was heard discoursing on his favourite topic of election and foreordination. Gabriel lay wearily listening, and even the submissive Tibbie was roused by his look of patient endurance. “Man!” she exclaimed, putting her hand on her husband’s shoulder, and gently shoving him from his chair, “I do believe you’d talk the hind leg off a donkey! Theology’s not for sickrooms, Manoah; go and discourse with them that’s not been wounded.”