Thump! went Tommy Webster’s club, and a little puff of dust went up from Gregory’s purple cloak. But he was off so sharply, and dodged with such amazing skill, that most of the blows aimed at his head hummed through the empty air, or thwacked some stout apprentice in the ribs as they all went whooping after him. He was out of the press and away like a deer down a covert lane between two shops ere one could say, “Jack, Robin’s son,” and left the stout apprentices at every flying leap. So presently they all gave over the chase, and came back with the bag he had dropped as he ran; and were so well pleased with themselves for what they had done that they gave three cheers for all the Cloth-workers and Saddlers in London, and then three more for Cicely and Nick. They would no doubt have gone right on and given three for the bag likewise, being strongly in the humor of it; but “Hi, Tom Webster!” shouted one who could hardly speak for cherries and cheese and puffing, “what’s gone with the queen we’re to have so fast, and the toll that we’re to take?” Tom Webster pulled at his yellow beard, for he saw that Cicely was no common child, and of gentler birth than they. “I do not think she’ll bide the toll,” said he, in half apology. “What! is there anything to pay?” she asked with a rueful quaver in her voice. “Oh, Nick, there is to pay!” “We have no money, sirs,” said Nick; “I be very sorry.” “If my father were here,” said Cicely, “he would give thee a handful of silver; but I have not a penny to my name.” She looked up into Tom Webster’s face. “But, sir,” said she, and laid her hand upon his arm, “if ye care, I will kiss thee upon the cheek.” “Why, marry come up! My faith!” quoth he, and suddenly blushed—to his own surprise the most of all—“why, what? Who’d want a sweeter penny for his pains?” But “Here—nay, nay!” the others cried; “ye’ve left us out. Fair play, fair play!” All Cicely could see was a forest of legs that filled the lane from wall to wall, and six great fellows towering over her. “Why, sirs,” cried she, confusedly, while her face grew rosy red, “ye all shall kiss my hand—if—if—” “If what?” they roared. “If ye will but wipe your faces clean.” At the shout of laughter they sent up the constable of the cloth-men’s ward awoke from a sudden dream of war and bloody insurrection, and came down Cheapside bawling, “Peace, in the name of the Queen!” But when he found it was only the apprentices of Mincing Lane out Maying, he stole away around a shop, and made as if it were some other fellow. They took the humor of it like a jolly lot of bears, and all came crowding round about, wiping their mouths on what came first, with a lick and a promise,—kerchief, doublet, as it chanced,—laughing, and shouldering each to be first. “Up with the little maid there, Tom!” they roared lustily.