“I was quick and no one shall say tha’ Humphrey Trail canna run when the devil is close,” he said, as though to himself. Still holding Lisle firmly by the arm, he turned and smiled at him again, in no way disturbed by the boy’s haughty face and flashing eyes. “Not so fast, my young gentleman, not so fast.” As he spoke Humphrey Trail pushed Lisle back a little farther into the shadow. His hold was gentle but firm. “Tha hast a rare bright face. I’d not thought tha’d sell tha life so easy there on the cart. Hast tha no sense that tha calls 'Long live the king’ with them beside tha that would cut tha throat?” Lisle tugged at Humphrey’s arm with both hands. He was still so angry that he could scarcely speak. After a moment he called out again, “God save King Louis,” and smiled mockingly at Humphrey Trail. His captor seemed in no way put out by the cry, for the side street was deserted and there was no one to see or hear them. “Tha would do well to stop tha foolishness and listen to sense. Tha cannot help tha king by tha shouting. Hark to me, lad, and ponder well what I say. This is the greatest day that France has ever known. Mark me, lad, this is a day of brave deeds and clean fighting. Days will come so black that the country will never lose its shame o’ them; but to-day the Marseillais have fought for the love o’ nation, and they have fought well.” Humphrey still held Lisle as he spoke but loosened his grasp when Lisle said: “There is no need to hold me, for I shall not run away from you. There is no harm in you, except that you are meddlesome. You say the Marseillais fought bravely. Well, the Swiss guards fought better! Even our servant, Henri, who is from Provence, spoke of their bravery!” There was a choke in Lisle’s voice, though he tried to swallow it. It did not escape Humphrey Trail. [Illustration: Humphrey Trail] “Not so fast again, young lad. I but meddled, as tha calls it, to save tha life!” he said, and, meeting Lisle’s flashing eyes with his kindly ones, he smiled. Lisle held out his hand. “I believe you, Humphrey Trail, and I thank you. Know that I am grateful.” Humphrey shook Lisle’s hand warmly. “Th’art no fool that tha remembered my name from my sayin’ it that once. Tha speaks English as well and maybe better than I who was born on a Yorkshire moor,” he said. Lisle looked at him curiously. “You come from England—from Yorkshire! Why are you here?” “I’d many a bit o’ gold coin saved from my shearin’ and sheep sellin’. I wanted to see things about the world, to go to foreign parts where there wasn’t just milkin’ and farmin’. I wanted to see a bit o’ life, and I am seein’ it and likely to see more.” Humphrey laughed as he spoke and Lisle laughed, too. All anger toward his rescuer had gone, although he still resented being thought stupid for having shouted for the king, and being carried off by this funny, fat farmer in such an unceremonious way. Humphrey Trail caught hold of his arm and said: