"It is the German gift-tree," he said to those behind him, whom Dickon saw now to be gentles and no common soldiers. "I have heard oft of this, but looked not to see it first in Shropshire. What do you here?" he asked at Dickon, rather than of him, and with such a flash of sharp, commanding eyes that the lad's tongue thickened, and he could make no answer. Andreas it was who spoke, when words failed Dickon, in a voice firmer than before, and lifting himself on his elbow. "He saved my life, my lord," he said. "And I am dying, I think, and this tree the good fellow tricked out to please my sick fancy. And I pray you, for a dead lad's sake, have a care for him when I am gone." The knight, with the promise of a smile on his straight lips, looked from eager, fragile Andreas to burly, hang-dog Dickon, and back again. "Art from the German countries?" he asked. "And how here, of all spots under the sky?" "I am Andreas Mayer, from Augsburg," said the lad, "driven hence by robbers from the house of Sir John Camber, who was slain along with my good master, Geraldus Hansenius." The young knight took a hasty step forward, and peered down upon the lad. "Geraldus of the types and press--the printer?" he asked hurriedly. "And thou art skilled in his craft?" "This is even more my handiwork than his," replied Andreas, with a boy's pride, reaching out for the casket containing his beloved "Troilus." Dickon undid the cover, and handed out the volume to the young noble, who took it with a swift gesture, and turned over here and there a page, bending the book to the firelight and uttering exclamations of delight. Suddenly he closed the book, and gave it back to Dickon to replace in the casket. "I thank thee, Sir Francis," he said to one of those behind him. "But for thy wonder at the lights in yon tree, we had passed this treasure by. Ho there, Poynter! Fashion me a litter on the moment, and we will bear this lad onward to the abbey as we go. Let some one ride on to say I am belated; hasten the others." Then he took the precious volume from its casket once more, and mused upon its pages again, and spoke of them to the gentlemen closest behind him. Again and again he put pointed questions to young Andreas upon the method of their making. "Thou hast heard of Master Caxton?" he asked the German boy. "Aye, he of Bruges, and I have seen his work. Geraldus did as fair." "Thou shalt help Caxton, then, to do fairer still. He is of Bruges no longer, saints be praised, but practises his good craft in his own native England now this two months syne at my own house in Westminster; and he will fall upon thy neck in joy when I do bring thee to him." The boy's eyes sparkled with elation. Forgetting his weakness, he sat upright. "I would not be over-bold," he said, "but with these mine hands have I held proofs for the Emperor to read from, and there is none of higher state in this thy island of a surety. Art thou the duke of these parts?"