The information given by Luke Hempen had enabled the authorities in Lud finally to put a stop to the import of fairy fruit. As we have seen, the Dapple had been dragged near its source, and wicker frails had been brought up, so cunningly weighted that they could float beneath the surface of the water, and closely packed with what was unmistakably fairy fruit. After that no further cases of fruit-eating came to Mumchance's notice. But, for all that, his anxieties were by no means at an end, for the execution of Endymion Leer came near to causing a popular rising. An angry mob, armed with cudgels and led by Bawdy Bess, stormed the court of the Guildhall, cut down the body--which had been left hanging on the gibbet as an example to evildoers--and bore it off in triumph; and the longest funeral procession that had been seen for years was shortly following it to the Fields of Grammary. The cautious Mumchance considered it would be imprudent to interfere with the obsequies. "After all, your Worship," he said to Master Polydore, "the Law has had his blood, and if it will mean a little peace and quiet she can do without his corpse." The next day many of the 'prentices and artizans went on strike, and several captains of merchant vessels reported that their crews showed signs of getting out of hand. Master Polydore was terrified out of his wits, and Mumchance was inclined to take a very gloomy view of the situation: "If the town chooses to rise the Yeomanry can do nothing against them," he said dejectedly. "We ain't organized (if your Worship will pardon the expression) for trouble--no, we ain't." Then, as if by a miracle, everything quieted down. The strikers, as meek as lambs, returned to their work, the sailors ceased to be turbulent, and Mumchance declared that it was years since the Yeomanry had had so little to do. "There's nothing like taking strong measures at once," Master Polydore remarked complacently to Master Ambrose (whom he had taken as his mentor in the place of Endymion Leer). "Once let them feel that there is a strong man at the helm, and you can do anything with them. And, of course, they never felt that with poor old Nat." Master Ambrose's only answer was a grunt--and a rather sardonic smile. For Master Ambrose happened to be one of the few people who knew what had really happened. The sudden calm was due neither to a miracle, nor to the strong hand of Master Polydore. It had been brought about by two humble agents--Mistress Ivy Peppercorn and Hazel Gibberty. One evening they had been sitting in the little parlour behind the grocer's shop over the first fire of the season.