"Morten is right, Kyste," began the other Lollander, with a hideous grin, which displayed his projecting teeth. "Thou art a mad bull, and art ever ready to push with thy horns. Why haste so desperately to get him out? he was a good and generous man of God while he was in power, 'tis true, but since he hath lain in Sjoeborg we have heard no great things of him, and have not been blessed with the sight of a stiver from his hand." "Dull cod-fish!" replied Johan Kyste, hastily; "believest thou not what honest Morten hath vowed and promised us in the bishop's name? As soon as we get him out we are his steersmen at Bornholm, and get leave to catch what we can throughout the king's dominions." "Hold, comrade," said Morten, correcting him. "It is only so long as the breach lasts between the king and the archbishop, that he gives you leave to drive that trade: it is only in the service of the church, and the pious bishop, that it may be lawful and Christian for a time; afterwards ye must content yourselves with what he gives you of his own, and lead quiet lives: but ere this day twelvemonth, you may feather your nests finely. Now begone, and neglect not what ye have taken upon ye, for the sake of other desperate pranks! I will not have you longer with me: if any one caught me in such fair company, they might take a fancy to hang me up by the side of you, for honest companionship's sake." "Ho! ho! wouldst _thou_ play the lordling, Morten?" said the one-eyed; "what higher honour couldst _thou_ look for, thou turnspit!--But hark! what was that? are there hunters in the wood so early?" The sound of hunting-horns, the tramp of horses, and the baying of hounds, was heard in the neighbourhood: the three wanderers hastened forward a few paces, but soon suddenly sprang aside in different directions. "S'death! the king and all his courtiers!" exclaimed Morten, sheltering himself behind a large beech tree by the road side, while both his suspicious-looking comrades hid themselves among the thick brushwood.