At this moment a fleet of English merchantmen, in the boyish person of Master Gilbert Oglander, hove into sight in the offing; and Drusilla, relinquishing her prize and sternly bidding Timothy to remain at anchor until her return, ran off to meet her brother. Timothy respectfully took off his cap and stood mutely in front of the handsome bearded gentleman whom Master Pym had addressed as "Sir Richard", not daring to raise his eyes from the ground. "How now, boy!" cried Sir Richard in a gruff voice, that seemed to have in it something of the deep roar of the sea waves breaking upon cavernous rocks. "What hath brought thee here? Hast been a-thieving of his lordship's rabbits, quotha?" "No, please your worship," stammered Timothy, "I have done no manner of harm." "Then wherefore are you here, a-trespassing on private lands?" demanded Sir Richard. "Mistress Oglander did arrest me, yonder by the trees," answered Tim. "I was about to go home when she came behind me and seized me, declaring that I was a Spanish treasure-ship. I yielded to her humour, and--" "Ay," interrupted Sir Richard with a grim smile, "I'll be sworn you yielded--as all Spaniards must when 'tis question of fighting with a well-found English ship such as the one that conquered you. But, prithee, what may it be that you have concealed in yon fat wallet at your back? I'll engage it is a pheasant-bird, or else a brace of plump partridges. Come, my young poacher, open your wallet that I may see!" He caught the boy by the shoulder and turned him round, grabbing at the bag. "'Tis but a few poor herbs, your honour, that I have been gathering for my father," explained Tim, opening the bag. "And what does your father with such wretched weeds?" demanded Sir Richard. "They are to be made into physic, sir," said the lad. "Physic?" cried Sir Richard, shaking his head in doubt. "Nay, poison more like! What is thy name, boy?" "Timothy Trollope, at your honour's service," returned Tim. "Father's a barber-surgeon." "Ay, a barbarous surgeon truly, if 'twas he that patched up Jan Coppinger's broken skull last week. I'd have made a goodlier job of it myself. And so Timothy is your name, eh? Well, I'll bear it in mind, boy; for 'twas you, if I mistake not, that I saw yester-noon helping to drag tipsy Tom Vercoe out of Sutton Pool. 'Twas a kindly deed, to say the least on't. And look you, Master Timothy, if ever you should take to the notion, as most boys do if I know ought of boyhood, of joining Her Majesty's service on the sea, you have but to acquaint me with it, and I'll be sworn you shall not wait long for a ship. Dost know me?" Timothy's face brightened as he answered: "There be few boys in Plymouth town that do not know your worship. You are Sir Richard Grenville that went out to Virginia, and that also fought against the infidels at Lepanto." The joyous young voice of Drusilla Oglander broke in upon this little conversation.