“Ay, Tom, all that, and more, too, on the road from the coast. But one thing I have not heard—how long will it take you to make me a pair of breeches?” “But a short time, _Captain_ Vytal. I was ever handy and quick with work for you.” “And so, Tom, I have come back to you.” “Ay, sir, but, alack!—the old days cannot come back. There are many, many changes since the good old times. The world, it seems to me, grows petty.” “What! call you it petty when a queen comes to the block?” “Nay, but look you, Captain Vytal.” He pointed to the top of the Southwark Gate. “See those heads spiked above us. They be thirty in number, yet all are but the pates of seminary priests who have entered England against the statute. Now this old bridge has had much nobler heads upon it, crowning the traitor’s gate. The head of Sir William Wallace looked down on the river long ago, and later the Earl of Northumberland’s. Some I have seen—Sir Thomas More’s, the Bishop of Rochester’s—” “By Heaven!” broke in Vytal, “you are in no pleasant mood, Tom, on seeing me.” “’Tis not you, captain. ’Tis”—his voice sank lower—“she,” and he pointed toward his shop. “Have you a wife yourself?” “Nay, Tom, nor never shall have.” “’Tis well. The thousand new statutes that are imposed upon us by her Majesty, the queen—God preserve her!—since you left, are not one whit so hard to bear as them her majesty—God preserve _me_!—Gammer Watkins, imposes.” “There are two sides to every difference, Tom. Now, a little less at the ‘Tabard’—but tell me, do the citizens grow uneasy beneath these numerous decrees?” “Nay; many are but slight annoyances seldom put in force. The wearing of a rapier longer than three feet is forbidden _by law_; the wearing of a woman’s ruff too large is prohibited _by law_. And our caps should be of cheaper stuff than velvet _by law_, and we must not blow upon horns or whistles in the streets _by law_—’uds precious, there is no end to it. But there is no statute against the flogging of blinded bears, captain—I had almost forgot this afternoon’s exploit of thine. I saw it not, for when they had brought King Lud to such a pass I could not sit there, but went to the bear-house in the garden to show a country lad Old Sarcason at closer quarters. Yet I might have known it was you when Peter Sharp described the adventure.” Vytal laughed. “I’m sorry you so soon forgot. I meant the thing to be a lasting lesson. But come, I want a pair of breeches. I go again abroad, but westward now, to the new country.” They walked across to the shop. “I fear,” said Watkins, his voice sinking to a whisper, “you should not tarry long. Those bear-wards will not readily forgive you.” “Now, Thomas, what has that to do with breeches?” “Nothing, indeed,” returned the leather-seller, with a dry, crisp laugh. “Oh, but you never change, Master Vytal.”