“I’ll go round to the east side o’ the house,” says I, and set off along the corridors to the window at which I had stationed Peter and Benjamin. “Now, lads,” says I, coming up to them, “any signs of the enemy?” “They’re in the stables, Master Richard,” says Peter. “We watched them come in at the gate from the lane an hour ago. First, there was four came together, and then three more followed after them. And they’ve turned out our horses,” says he, pointing to some dark shapes that stood disconsolate enough in the middle of the stable-yard, “and put their own beasts in the stalls.” The door of the stable stood opposite the window at which we were watching. It was one of those doors that have two halves, and the upper one they had left open, so that we had an excellent view into the stable. They had lighted the lanthorn that hung from the roof, and I could just see the candle that swealed and sputtered in it. Now and then, one or other of Anthony’s gang passed and repassed the square of light. They were evidently making their cattle comfortable on my uncle’s provender, and the thought of it raised within me a roguish desire, such as a lad might have felt, to spoil their sport. The swinging lanthorn and its glare of yellow light gave me a thought. “Isn’t Master John Stirk a famous hand with his gun?” says I to the lads. “I have surely heard something o’ the sort in bygone times,” I says. “A rare hand, surely,” says Peter. “A’ can hit----” But I was hurrying along the corridor towards the post at which I had stationed John and Humphrey. I passed near my uncle’s chamber on the way, and from a little distance saw Mistress Alison with her hand on the latch of the door. She bore a bowl of some sick man’s slop or other, and had no eyes for me, so I went on to find the two brothers leaning against the wall by the garden window, and gazing in silence into the gloom outside. “All’s well here,” says John, as I came up. “We heard footsteps on the path once, but ’tis a good hour ago, and they must ha’ withdrawn for awhile.” “They are in the stables,” says I, “foddering their beasts on Sir Nicholas’s corn, no doubt. And since all’s quiet at present,” I says, “come you with me, John--I lay Humphrey will guard your post for a moment,” and I led him back to where Peter and Benjamin stood staring at the light in the stable. “You are a good marksman, they tell me,” I says. “Can you hit that lanthorn, do you think?” “Aye,” he says, fingering his musket, “but not so well from here as from below. There’s a little window in the scullery, Master Richard, that I ha’ sometimes made use of to talk with the maids. I could hit it from that.” “Come on,” I says, and we went downstairs. “We will give these rascals a lesson,” says I, as we turned into the scullery. “Now, John, mark the candle, and out she goes.”