"I think, son Jack, you will do well to ride with Master Fleming, since you must go soon at any rate," said Thomas Sprat. "It will be both pleasanter and safer for you to travel with him than to travel alone. Nay, look not so grave upon it, dear lad. If your father think it best, you can return again by and by, and I shall come and see you in Bridgewater before long." "But there is the Latin I was writing for Father John," said Jack, hesitating. "The poor old man will be sadly disappointed if I do not finish it, for I am sure he cannot do it himself. Good man, he did not know whether Horace were a Christian or a heathen." "Ah, well," said the stranger, "many a man lives out his days in great comfort and usefulness who never heard of Horace. But as to that matter, it is my purpose to tarry a day or two at the Hall with Sir John Brydges, who, as I hear in the hamlet yonder, is last night returned from London." "Is he returned? I am glad to hear it," said Thomas Sprat. "He is then a good man," remarked Master Fleming. "He is indeed, sir. I would all our country knights were like him; and his lady is worthy of her husband. Their household is a school of good manners and godly living to both men and maids." "I have heard as much before, and am glad to hear it confirmed," said Master Fleming. "I have never met Sir John, but I have letters to him from mutual friends in London. I shall sojourn with him for two or three days, so you, Master Secretary, will have time to finish Father John's letter." "I shall feel easier at leaving you, now that the knight is at home," said Jack to his uncle, after Master Fleming had taken his departure. "Have no fears for me," replied the shepherd. "I have none for myself. My dependence for aid must be upon no arm of flesh, dear son, but on One who can as easily save by one as by many, and who will let no harm happen to me." The next day Jack finished writing his Latin letter and copied it out fairly in his best hand, wishing in his soul that Master Crabtree could only see it. Then he carried it down to the little hamlet of Holford and called at the priest's house. Father John welcomed him warmly, as usual, and admired the appearance of the letter, which, though he could not understand a word in ten, he insisted on Jack's reading aloud to him. "It sounds all right, I am sure," said he. "And it is much better written than that of the abbot's secretary. It has come just in time too, for I shall have a chance to send it this afternoon by one of the brethren from the Abbey who has come to see the knight on some business. And now, son, what shall I pay you for your labor?" "Nothing at all, dear father," replied Jack. "I should be ashamed to take a penny from you after all your kindness to me. I only wish I could do more for you before I go home. Shall I not set your reverence's books in order?"