"This much, skipper, that if he don't mind--there: if he affronts me I'll stuff him head first into the gun, as I be a sinful man." "Silence, old fool!" cried Gil, angrily. "The girl is nothing, and never will be, to thee. Get me my doublet and cap, for the new babe is baptised and the visitors may all go home." "Old fool, eh?" growled Wat. "Well, perhaps I be. Never mind; it's pleasant to be an old fool if it be on account of a pretty woman." As he spoke he fetched his skipper's doublet and cap from the place where they had hung, and was turning with them to Gil, who had stooped down by the edge of the Pool, to wash off some of the tightly-clinging powder, when one of Sir Mark's followers walked up, and, rudely slapping Gil on the shoulder, cried, "Stop there, fellow; you have not done yet." "No," said the other, swaggering up; "you've fired for your pleasure; now, perhaps, you'll have to fire for ours." "My lads," said Gil, quietly, "I am not in a quarrelling humour to-day. Go to thy master, or maybe his livery may get sullied in the Pool." "Insolent!" cried one. "What does he mean?" cried the other. "Stop, I say; keep your doublet off till Sir Mark gives you leave to put it on." He made a snatch at the garment Wat was handing to his leader, wondering the while how Gil could be so calm, but as the fellow snatched at the sleeve Gil's open hand dealt him so tremendous a blow in the chest that he staggered backwards; and, as his companion leaped at Gil to help his comrade, Wat thrust out a foot and sent him sprawling on the ground. The two men leaped up, whipped out their swords, and made at Gil, who half drew his own weapon, but thrust it back with a contemptuous "Pish!" and, as the first man made a pass at him, he struck it aside with his open hand, closed with his assailant, disarmed him, and snapped his sword in two. The other was more cautious, but Gil watched his opportunity, tore his sword from his hand, and served it the same. Blind with rage, the two men drew their daggers, and made at him again; but by this time Gil's men had closed round, and Sir Mark's followers were seized and disarmed. "What shall we do with them, captain?" said one of the sailors; but Gil had walked away in disgust at the treatment he received from the founder, and the order came from Wat Kilby-- "Pitch 'em overboard, my lads, into the Pool." Meanwhile, Sir Mark had entered the old parlour, and gladly, like Sir Thomas, availed himself of the founder's hospitality after a long, hot, and dusty ride. The exciting finish, too, had begotten thirst. He had a dozen gallant sayings to bestow upon Mace, whose mind was full of the insult he had thrown at Gil; and her heart beat with pleasure as she recalled her lover's calm sense of contempt for the gaily-dressed fly who had stung him in the breast. "This is not a bad glass of wine, Master Cobbe," said Sir Thomas, who was drinking his third.