Still in a sore discontent with myself and my recent doings, I jogged forward through Hickleton and Sprotborough to Warmsworth, and coming to the trysting-place about four o’clock of the afternoon, sat me down by the roadside and waited until such time as my friend Matthew Richardson should make his appearance. As for my horse, I tied him up to the mile post and bade him crop the grass within reach to his heart’s content “Yes,” says I, “eat while thou canst, poor beast--God only knows what cheer we shall have in the days that are coming!” By which you may perceive that I had no great joy at the prospect before me. Now this may seem strange, and yet ’twas not strange, for, as I have told you before, I had never much inclination for such an active life as a soldier must needs live, and still less for the privations that fighting men are necessarily put to. But having put my hand to the plough--by which I mean, having sworn to embrace, and if need be, to fight for the popular cause--I was bound in honour not to look back. And surely my sympathies were all in favour of the cause I had espoused--it was but a natural sluggishness that made me hanker after peaceful pursuits at a time when most men were furbishing up their old weapons with uncommon zeal. About five o’clock came Matthew Richardson, mounted on a good horse, and full of enthusiasm and fervour. He greeted me with warmth, but was somewhat taken aback on perceiving that I was not armed. “Why, what?” says he, staring at me. “Is it thus you ride to war, friend Richard? Where be thy accoutrements, thy armour, thy greaves, thy sword and spear----” “You forget,” says I, “that I am escaped from a house where every weapon is sacred to the cause of the King’s Majesty. ’Tis a marvel that I have come hither at all.” “Ah!” says he, “I forgot, ’tis true, that your uncle is a staunch Royalist. Well, but we must arm thee, Richard, at the first opportunity. I have friends in Derbyshire,” he says, musingly, “that will fit thee out, I think. So now to horse and let us onward.” “Whither away first?” says I. “To Northampton, lad. ’Tis there that Essex is gathering the army in which lies all the hope of England. A brave array it is,” he says, “judging by all that I hear.” “I have heard naught of it,” says I, as we jogged along. “Until last night I did not even know that war had broken out.”