Now while I was writing at the table, under the great flapping standard, with the Duke, in his purple coat, walking about in front of me, I had a pretty full view of the crowd which ringed us in. We were circled about by a crowd of gaping admirers; from whom, every minute, Mr. Blick, or the Duke, or Lord Grey, would select a sheepish grinning man to serve under our colours. Among the crowd I noticed a little old lame man with a long white beard. He was a puppet-man, who was making the people laugh by dancing his puppets almost under the Duke's nose. As he jerked the puppet-strings, he played continually on his pan-pipes the ribald tune of “Hey, boys, up go we,” then very popular. The Duke spoke to him once; but he did not answer, only bowed very low, with his hat off, which made the people think him an idiot or a jester. They laughed heartily at him. After a bit, it occurred to me that this old puppet-shaker always crept into the ring (with his hat off to receive alms) whenever the Duke spoke aside to Lord Grey, or to some other officer. I watched him narrowly to make sure, because something in his manner made me suspect that he was trying to catch what our leaders said to each other. I tried to recall where I had seen the old man; for I had seen him before. He had been at Exeter on the day we set out for Sidmouth, so much I remembered clearly; but looking at him carefully, with my head full of memories of faces, it seemed to me that he had been at Dorchester also. Surely an old man, lame in the left leg like this man, had gone down a narrow lane in front of me in Dorchester. I had not thought of it in Dorchester; but I thought of it now, with a feeling that it was strange to meet again thus in Lyme. I took good stock of the man, wondering if he were a spy. He was a dirty old man enough. His dirty fingers poked through ragged mittens. His cheeks were all swathed up in a woollen comforter. I made the mistake of looking at him so hard that I made him look at me. Seeing that I was staring at him, with a face full of suspicion, he walked boldly up to me, holding out his hat for my charity. We stared at each other, while he blew a blast on his pan-pipes, at which everybody laughed. “Come, come, boy,” said Lord Grey to me, “we want those letters done. Never mind about the puppets. Here, old man” (giving him a penny), “you take yourself off now. Or are you going to enlist?” The people laughed again at this, while the old man, after a flourish of his hat to me, piped up lively quickstep, called “Jockeys to the Fair.”