"Oh, yes, there are, Maitre Bertram," Philip laughed. "I have a big frame like my father's, I will admit; and to look at, it may be as you say; but I shall want many another year over my head, before my strength matches my size. I am but just eighteen, and men do not come to their full strength till they are five-and-twenty." "You are strong enough for anything, now," the merchant said; "and I should not like to stand a downright blow from you, in the best suit of armour ever forged. "I was glad to see that rascal Pierre come back with you. He is a merry fellow, though I fear that he causes idleness among my servants, for all the grave looks he puts on as he waits on you at dinner. Is he valiant?" "He has had no great opportunity of showing valour," Philip replied; "but he is cool, and not easily ruffled, and he fought stoutly in the defence of the Count de Laville's chateau; but of course, it is not his business to ride behind me in battle." Philip had corresponded regularly with his parents, and had received letters in reply from them, and also from his uncle and aunt; though these of course came irregularly, as ships happened to be sailing for La Rochelle. His father wrote but briefly, but his letters expressed satisfaction. "I am right glad," he said, "to think that a Fletcher is again cracking the skulls of Frenchmen--I mean, of course, of Catholic Frenchmen--for I regard the Huguenots, being of our religion, as half English. I don't say take care of yourself, my lad--it is not the way of Englishmen to do that, on the battlefield--but it would be a grievous day for us all, here, if we heard that aught had befallen you." The letters of his mother and aunt were of a different character, and dwelt strongly upon the sacred cause upon which he was engaged; and both rejoiced greatly over the number of Huguenots he and Francois had rescued, round Niort. His uncle's letters were more worldly.