“No, no, Elizabeth; Sir Robert is ever haunted by that terror. ’Tis a view held, indeed, by many, and doubtless the Archbishop’s innovations and unwise ceremonies give colour to the charge. Also he deals out harder measure to the sectaries than to the Papists. But though I loathe his ear-croppings and nose slittings, I don’t believe him to be a traitor to Protestantism,” said the doctor. “On the contrary, I know of a gentleman of this county whom he dissuaded from becoming a Papist.” It chanced the next morning that Dr. Harford had to visit a patient in the direction of Brampton Bryan, and the day being very fine he told Gabriel that he would take him as his companion, and that afterwards he should see his future schoolfellow. There were few treats the boy enjoyed more than a ride with his father, for Dr. Harford was a great naturalist, and there were countless things to interest him in the Herefordshire lanes--details that Gabriel would never have observed at all if left to himself. They had not gone far along Bridge street that morning, however, when a messenger came running across the road with a paper, which he thrust into the doctor’s hand. “I am loth to be the bearer of this, sir, but a man must do the work of his office,” he said, apologetically. The doctor reined in his horse to read the paper, and Gabriel, glancing up at him from his sturdy little pony “Joyce,” saw a look of intense annoyance upon his face. “When am I to come?” he asked. “At once, sir, if you please,” said the messenger, respectfully. “’Tis very much against the will of every Hereford man, you may be sure, sir, but we have no choice in the matter.” “Well, I will go without delay; ’tis at the Archdeacon’s court, I suppose?” The messenger replied in the affirmative, and the doctor touched up his horse and went off at such a brisk pace that Joyce’s short legs had some difficulty in keeping abreast of his roan mare. Arrived at his destination, he dismounted and threw the reins to his groom. “I shall not be long, Gabriel,” he said, looking round at his son as he entered the building. A vague uneasiness filled the lad’s mind. What was the matter, and why was Simon the groom speedily surrounded by a small crowd of eager questioners? Among them he could see old Nat the sailor, his wrinkled face bearing a look of indignation which he had never before seen there. “Nat,” he called, “pray come and speak with me. What does it all mean?” “Why, master,” said the old man, “it means that Archbishop Laud has summoned the best man in all Hereford because, forsooth, he does not bow his head to order in the church.” “Oh! Nat, you don’t think they’ll cut off his ears, do you?” said the boy in an agony, remembering in a flash all the gruesome and, alas! true tales he had heard of such practices. “I don’t know, master, but Simon here thinks it’s a matter of paying a fine. I’m going into the court to see for myself.”