"Any news from the army in Flanders? A post from London, eh?" "Nay, not ’zackly that." "Odzooks! speak up, men," cried the captain impatiently. "Why are they all mumble-chopped to-night, mistress?" he asked, turning to the hostess, who had followed him with bread and cheese and beer. "Ah, they be pondering strange things," returned Mrs. Joplady. "Tell the cap’n all the long story, William Nokes." The constable, fingering the hat in his hand, looked for sympathy into the stolid faces of his fellows, cleared his throat, and began: "Cap’n, your sarvant. Eight o’clock this mornin’, or mebbe nine—’twixt eight and nine, if the truth was told—comes Long Tom from the Grange, Sir Godfrey’s man, as ye med know, Cap’n. Says he to me, ’Constable,’ says he, ’Sir Godfrey commands ’ee as a justice o’ the peace to bring your staff and irons and other engines,’ says he, ’up along to Grange, wi’out remorse or delay, and arrest a prisoner in the Queen’s name.’ You may think what a turn it gi’ me, souls, so early in the mornin’. ’Be he voilent?’ says I. ’Can I arrest the villain all alone by myself?’ ’Ay sure,’ says he; ’there’s no knowin’ what a tough job ’twould be an he were sound and hearty, but he’s dazed, so he be, wi’ a crack in the nob, and won’t give no trouble to no mortal constable, not a bit,’ says he. ’A crack in the nob,’ says he; didn’t he, souls?" A murmur of assent came from the group. "So I ups and goos wi’ Long Tom hotfoot to the Grange, and Tom he tells me by the way the longs and shorts on’t. Seems ’twas Sherry Minshull as cracked his nob, leastways he picked un up, he and young master pa’son betwixt ’em, an’ hoisted him on a cart o’ Farmer Leake’s, an’ so carried un to Grange and laid un afore Sir Godfrey. ’Twas highway robbery, Cap’n, a-took in the very act, a-stoppen the carriage o’ the high lard as come this way yesterday, or day afore, as ’ee med say, seein’ ’tis mornin’ now by the rights on’t. And Sir Godfrey commits un, he do, dazed as he were wi’ the crack in the nob, and hands un over to the law, and says, ’Constable,’ says he, ’keep the knave fast in the lock-up, an’ hold un till I gets word from my Lard Godolphin in Lun’on.’ They be his words, Cap’n." "Well, well, cut your story short, man. Adsheart, ye’ve more words than matter." "Ay, but wait to th’ end, wait to th’ end," put in a voice. "The end of a rope ’twill be, and not for one neither," added another. The constable looked a little uncomfortable.