“Aye, young man, they du set ’em on me sometimes, ’tis why I carry this gert staff ... killed a dog wi’ it once, I did—though I were badly bit! So they clapped me in the stocks, the dog was valleyble, y’ see, an’ chanced to belong to Lord Sayle, him as du live at the great ’ouse ’Friston way.” Talking thus, they became aware of leisured hoof-strokes behind them, and, turning to stare, old Penelope pointed suddenly at the approaching rider with her long staff. “Yonder ’e comes!” she whispered fiercely; “him as ought t’ be dead an’ gibbeted ... him as be afeart o’ me!” Glancing round in turn, Sir John beheld a man bestriding a large, plump steed, a man who rode at a hand-pace, apparently lost in thought; thus Sir John had full time to observe him narrowly as he approached. He seemed a prosperous and highly respectable man, for he went in broadcloth and fine linen; but his garments, devoid of all embellishings, were of sober hue, so that, looked at from behind, he might have been an itinerant preacher with a hint of the Quaker, but seen from in front, the narrow eyes, predatory nose, vulperine mouth and fleshy chin stamped him as being like nothing in life but himself. Slowly he approached, until, suddenly espying the old woman, he urged his somnolent horse to quicker gait and rode towards her, brandishing the stick he carried. “Damned hag,” cried he, “you ought to burn!” “Dirty twoad,” she retorted, “you’d ought to hang!” At this, the man struck at her passionately, and, being out of reach, spurred his powerful horse as if to ride her down; but Sir John, setting by the basket, sprang and caught the bridle. “Steady, sir, steady!” quoth he mildly. “Mind your own business!” cried the horseman. “Faith, sir,” answered Sir John ruefully, “’tis high time I did, ’twould seem. And indeed I propose doing so, but in my own fashion. And first I desire to learn why you ride the king’s highway to the common danger——” “Oh, and who the devil might you be?” “One who hath played divers rôles, sir,” answered Sir John. “Just at present I find myself a Man o’ Sentiment, full o’ loving-kindness, especially to sorrowful old age——” “What the devil!” exclaimed the horseman, staring. “Come then, sir, let us together bare our heads in homage to Age, Sorrow and Womanhood in the person of this much-enduring Mistress Haryott!” and off came Sir John’s hat forthwith. “Are ye mad?” demanded the other scornfully. “Are ye mad or drunk, my lad?” “Sir, a Man of Sentiment is never——” “Curse your sentiment! Let me warn ye that yon hag is a notorious evil-liver and a damned witch——” “Which as a Man of Sentiment——” “Hold y’r tongue, d’ye hear! She’s a witch, I tell ye, so tak’ my advice, my lad, throw that old trug o’ her’n over the hedge and leave her to the devil! And now loose my bridle; I’m done.” “But I am not, sir!” answered Sir John. “You attempted to strike a woman in my presence, and have dared allude to me twice as your ‘lad’—two very heinous offences——”