But he had forgotten the gulf that lay between the Magistrates and the rest of the town. Though probably the only topics of conversation that evening in every kitchen, in every tavern, in every tradesman's parlour, were the good run for his money little Miss Honeysuckle had given her revered father that afternoon, and the search parties of Yeomen that were scouring the country for her--not to mention the terrible suspicions as to the cause of her flight he had confided to Mumchance; nevertheless not a word of it all had reached the ears of the other Magistrates. So, when the front-door of the Chanticleers was opened for him, he was greeted by sounds of uproarious laughter proceeding from the parlour. The Polydore Vigils were spending the evening there, and the whole party was engaged in trying to catch a moth--flicking at it with their pocket-handkerchiefs, stumbling over the furniture, emulating each other to further efforts in the ancient terms of stag-hunting. "Come and join the fun, Ambrose," shouted Master Nathaniel, crimson with exertion and laughter. But Master Ambrose began to see red. "You ... you ... heartless, gibbering idiots!" he roared. The moth-hunters paused in amazement. "Suffering Cats! What's taken you, Ambrose?" cried Master Nathaniel. "Stag-hunting, they say, was a royal sport. Even the Honeysuckles might stoop to it!" "Don't the Honeysuckles consider a moth a stag, Ambrose?" laughed Master Polydore Vigil. But that evening the old joke seemed to have lost its savour. "Nathaniel," said Master Ambrose solemnly, "the curse of our country has fallen upon you and me ... and you are hunting moths!" Now, "curse" happened to be one of the words that had always frightened Master Nathaniel. So much did he dislike it that he even avoided the words that resembled it in sound, and had made Dame Marigold dismiss a scullery-maid, merely because her name happened to be Kirstie. Hence, Master Ambrose's words sent him into a frenzy of nervous irritation. "Take that back, Ambrose! Take that back!" he roared. "Speak for yourself. The ... the ... the cur ... nothing of that sort is on me!" "That is not true, Nathaniel," said Master Ambrose sternly. "I have only too good reason to fear that Moonlove is stricken by the same sickness as Ranulph, and...." "You lie!" shouted Master Nathaniel. "And in both cases," continued Master Ambrose, relentlessly, "the cause of the sickness was ... fairy fruit." Dame Dreamsweet Vigil gave a smothered scream, Dame Marigold blushed crimson, and Master Polydore exclaimed, in a deeply shocked voice, "By the Milky Way, Ambrose, you are going a little too far--even if there were not ladies present."