"Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me thy grey mare, All along, down along, out along lee; For I want for to go to Widdicombe Fair, Wi’ Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan Whiddon, Harry Hawk, Old uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all"; and by the time he reached the end of the third of the eight stanzas, the whole company were ready to join him in trolling the chorus, "Old uncle Tom Cobleigh and all". It was late when Harry reached the Angel and Crown. Sherebiah was marching up and down before the tavern, blowing great clouds from his pipe. "Hey now, Master Harry," he said, with an expression of mingled wrath and relief; "’tis a mighty scurvy trick you have played me, i’ feck ’tis so. Here we are, your second day in London, and you must go off along by your lone self on who knows what errand o’ foolery. Ay, ’tis strong words for me, and a man o’ peace and all, but not too strong, seee’n as I knows the wicked ways o’ the town and you be unfledged. Zooks, sir, I’ve been in a terrible way, thinken all manner of awsome an’ gashly things, as how you med ha’ been trepanned, or slit by the Scourers, or trampled by some high lard’s horses, or rifled and beat by footpads, or ’ticed into a dicing den by sweetners always on the look-out for a country gudgeon, or——" "Hold, Sherry, you forget yourself," said Harry, who was, however, not displeased to find the honest fellow so solicitous about him. "In truth, I forgot all about you. I can take care of myself, I think. I dined with Mr. Godfrey Fanshawe, whom I chanced to meet, and we went to the play afterwards, and I never laughed so much in my life. Mrs. Mountford’s a beauty, Sherry, and Mr. Cibber—when he doesn’t squeak—has the pleasantest voice ever I heard—nay, not that, after all; ’tis not so pleasant as my lord Marlborough’s. What d’ye think, Sherry? I met the earl himself at Lord Godolphin’s, and he has my name on a scrap of paper, and to-morrow or next day I shall hold the queen’s commission, and then off with the troops to Flanders, and I shall make my fortune, man, and then——" "Huh!" put in a voice from the doorway. "Haastige spoed is zelden goed." Harry’s excitement was dashed by the slow drawl of Mynheer Grootz, whose little eyes were twinkling as he puffed at his big pipe. "Ay, a true word," said Sherebiah. "’More haste, less speed,’ as the Dutch words mean put into rightful language. ’Counten chickens afore they be hatched,’ as ye med say." Though he was a little nettled, Harry had too much good sense not to see that his elation had carried him too far. He could laugh at himself—an excellent virtue in man or boy. "I am an ass, Mr. Grootz," he said; "but really I did not expect such good luck. My lord Godolphin was very kind, and so was the earl, and as he used but few words I do think he meant what he said. I am sorry my absence made you uneasy, Sherry; but I don’t understand why you should imagine all manner of harm."