"Indeed, Sherry! you surprise me." "You see, sir, I be nowt but a Englishman,—a poor honest Wiltshire man; you can’t make a silk purse out o’ a sow’s ear, and nothen’ll make a furrener out of a home-spun countryman." "That’s true enough, Sherry, but you’re right as you are." "Nay, sir, axen your pardon. True, I ha’ still got a bit o’ muscle, and can handle a sword featly; but I’m afeard I can’t brush a coat nor fold a pair of breeches like a furrener, let alone wearen on ’em. Zooks! suppose a man do get inside of a high prince’s goodly raiment, do it make un a whit the better man?—I axe ’ee that, sir. Many’s the time I’ve seed a noble coat on a scarecrow in a turmut-field, sir." Harry remembered that of late Max had made the care of his clothes his special province. "Furren ways and furreners," continued Sherebiah, "I can’t abide ’em, and but for bein’ a man o’ peace I’d find it main hard to keep my hands off ’em, be they in prince’s fine linen or their own nat’ral smalls, sir." "You don’t like foreigners, eh?—Katrinka, eh?" Sherebiah was nonplussed for a moment, but recovered himself with his usual readiness. "Ay, but there’s a deal in the bringen up, sir. You can break a colt, and tame wild beasts, and make summat o’ crabs wi’ graften. Katrinka be a young wench, and teachable; bless ’ee, I’ve teached her how to fry a rasher and make a roly-poly; her be half Wiltshire a’ready, and sings the song o’ turmut-hoein’ like a bird. And ’tis my thought, sir, bein’ discharged, to have our names cried and do the lifelong deed, and goo home-along and bide wi’ feyther." "Well, if your mind’s set on it, I suppose I must be content to lose you both." Sherebiah ceased twiddling his cap and looked startled. "Both, sir!—did I rightly hear ’ee say both?" "Yes, you and Max." "Hoy! be it the holy state o’ matrimony wi’ he too?" "I shouldn’t wonder. Prince Eugene has made him a present of the Zum grauen Bären inn, and he’ll want a wife to help him." Sherebiah looked thoughtfully at the floor. "The striplen be a good enough feller," he said slowly. "Barren his furren blood, which he couldn’t help, poor soul, he bean’t a bad feller. He looks uncommon spry in the prince’s noble garments—ay, he do so." Sherebiah paused, and began to twiddle his cap again. Harry waited patiently. "I’m a-thinken, sir, ’twould be onbecomen in a Wiltshire man to let his duty goo by, in furren parts an’ all. Bean’t in reason for both to take our discharge all o’ a heap, and if the young man Max goos, I bides, leastways till ’ee set eyes on a plain Wiltshire man as ’ee’ll fancy better." "Well, that’s all right, Sherry. Now I think the best thing you can do is to go and wish Max good luck." He could not help smiling at Sherebiah’s obvious relief at the turn things had taken. Sherebiah heaved a deep sigh; then, as he observed Harry’s amused expression, a broad grin overspread his features, and he moved away.