But Mistress Wayne had no time to answer; for the door opened on the sudden and the four lads came tumbling into hall, piling the fruits of their long day’s sport in a heap against the wall. "A rare day we’ve had, Ned!" cried Griff. "Ay, we’re late for supper, but thou’lt not grudge it when thou see’st how many other suppers we’ve brought home to larder." Wayne looked at the heap of grouse and snipe, conies and hares and moor-cock. "Well, fall to, lads," he laughed, "and I’ll save my scolding till ye’re primed against it.—Are ye still bent on hawking to-morrow, after this full day’s sport?" "Ay, are we!" cried Griff. "We’re but the keener set to have another day of it." "Then go; but mind ye come straight up to the washing-pool after dinner. ’Tis time ye learned the ways of farming." The youngsters made wry faces at this as they settled themselves to the mutton-pasty. "We met the Lean Man again to-day," said one presently, in between two goodly mouthfuls. "And what said he to you?" "Naught. He wore as broken a look as ever I saw, and when we rode at him with a shout——" "Lads, lads, fight men less skilled at sword-play than the Lean Man," put in Shameless Wayne, smiling the while at their spirit. "But he fled from us, Ned—minding the night, I warrant, when we took him in the back with yond stone ball. Yet they say he’s always like that now; Nanny Witherlee tells me he sees the Dog at the side of every Wayne among us, and flees from that, not from us." "Nanny is a fond old wife, with more tales on her tongue-tip than hairs on her thinning thatch." "Yet—dost mind what I saw, too, that night in the garden?" said Mistress Wayne. "Brown, blunt-headed—I can see him yet, Ned, as he fawned against thy side." Wayne did not answer, though he paled a little, and soon he made excuse to leave them. "Where art going, Ned? We’ve fifty tales to tell thee of the day’s sport," cried Griff. "But have I idleness enough to listen, ye careless rascals?" laughed Wayne from the door. "I must see Hiram Hey and make all ready against to-morrow’s work." "Thou’lt not find him, for he was going into the Friendly Inn with shepherd Jose as we passed through Ling Crag." "Was he?" growled the other. "Hiram is a poor drinker by his own showing, and a man with no spare time on his hands—but he has worn many a tavern threshold bare, I’ll warrant, since he first learned to set lips to pewter." And, indeed, Hiram wore a leisurely air enough at the moment. Stretched at his ease on the wide lang-settle of the Friendly Inn, he was handling a mug of home-brewed and watching the crumbling faces in the peat-fire, while shepherd Jose talked idly to him from the window. "There’s somebody got four gooid legs under him," said Jose, as the racket of horse-hoofs came up the road. "Ay, by th’ sound. Who is’t, Jose?" answered Hiram lazily.