"Gumley, my name, sir. I’ve got my orders—in the king’s name." "Vell, I vill complain to de squire; I vill make to punish you—you—Gomley!" "Orders is orders, sir. I can’t say no more." Gumley himself was somewhat anxious about his charge, for, not expecting such a drain on his larder, he had only his usual provisions for the week, and did not feel at liberty to leave the cottage and procure more. Thursday passed, Friday, Saturday, and still he had heard nothing from Jack. When Sunday came, there was only a half loaf of bread and a rind of cheese left, and these had to be shared among the two men and the dog. On the second day De Fronsac began to beguile the tedium of confinement by writing poetry. When Gumley looked in at him on one of his periodical visits the Frenchman said: "You have not a bad heart. You obey orders of—of—of a monstair. Vell, I read you vat I have now written about anoder Monstair—de great villain Monstair vat call himself Emperor of de French! Listen! You vill like it. "’_De sky vas blue, de sea vas green,_ _All beautiful for to be seen._ _Vy den am I not gay and glad?_ _Alas! de Monstair make me sad._’ "Dat is good beginning, hein?" "Reyther on the miserable side, don’t ’ee think, sir? For myself, I like a rum-tum-tiddlum rollicum-rorum sort o’ thing." "Ver’ vell, I write you someting of dat kind." Gumley heard nothing more of this generous offer until Monday evening. Then, when he went into De Fronsac’s room to explain with apologies that he had no more food, the Frenchman said: "No matter not at all. Vizout doubt some vun vill come to-morrow. Be so good as give me a candle. I vish to write de poesy I speak of." Gumley saw no reason for not humoring so harmless a hobby, and brought the lighted candle. But a couple of hours later he was awakened from his sleep at the locked door by a smell of burning. He soon satisfied himself that it came from the prisoner’s room, and opened the door. "Ha! I see you!" said De Fronsac. "I am almost burnt alive. I am writing my poesy ven—_voilà!_ de candle overfalls and burns a hole in de table-carpet. See it! I put out de fire, easy; but it make much smoke. I fear it vake you; pardon, my good Gomley." "Granted, sir, ready. If I was you I’d go to sleep now and do your writing stuff in the morning." "So I vill," was the response. "Pardon! I vill not vake you again." Gumley returned to his shakedown and was soon fast asleep. Nearly two hours later he was wakened by a growl from the dog outside. He got up, opened the outer door, and found Comely trying to get up to the shuttered window of De Fronsac’s room. "Don’t like his poetry any more than me, don’t ’ee? Come in. We’ll tell him ’tis time he was abed." He closed the door when the dog had entered, and together they went into the prisoner’s room. There was still a good deal of smoke in it—but no Frenchman. "Ahoy!" cried Gumley.