"Truly," she exclaimed, "if my lady, being no more than a woman, is man enough to garrison her house against the Roundheads, she cannot deny me, that am no less than a woman, the right to handle a pike." Halfman, eying the dame's assertive rotundities, thought that he would be indeed a quarrelsome fellow who should deny her evident femininity. "You are a lovely logician," he approved. "Enough." Then resuming his sententious tone of military command, he took up the task where he had left it off. "Trail your pikes." The order was this time obeyed by the company with something approaching resemblance to the action of Thoroughgood, and Halfman went on. "Cheek your pikes." Out of the confused cluttering of weapons which ensued, Timothy Garlinge emerged tremulous. "Please, sir," he gurgled, "I've forgotten how to cheek my pike." Halfman mastered exasperation bravely, as, taking a pike from the hands of Thoroughgood, he strove to illuminate rusticity. "Use your pike thus, noddy," he lessoned, good-naturedly, wielding the weapon with the skill of a practised pikeman. But the illustration was as much lost upon Garlinge as the original command, and in his attempt to imitate it he whirled his arm so recklessly that his companions scattered in dismay, and Halfman himself was fain to move a step or two backward to avoid the yokel's meaningless sweeps. "Have a care," he cried. "If you work so wild you will damage your company." Mrs. Satchell, taking her post in the now restored line, shook her red fist at the delinquent. "He had best not damage me," she thundered, "or I'll damage him to some purpose." "Silence in the ranks!" Halfman commanded, sharply. "Charge your pikes," he ordered. This order was obeyed indifferently and tamely enough by all save the egregious Mrs. Satchell, who delivered so lusty a thrust with her weapon that Halfman was obliged to skip back briskly to avoid bringing his breast acquainted with her steel. "Nay, woman, warily!" he shouted, half laughing, half angry. "Play your play more tamely. I am no rascally Roundhead." Mrs. Satchell grounded her weapon and wiped the sweat from her shining forehead with the back of her red hand. There was a deadly earnest in her eyes, a deadly earnest in her speech. "I cry you mercy," she panted. "But I am a whole-hearted woman, and when you bid me charge I am all for charging." Halfman did his best to muffle amusement in a reproving frown. "Limit your zeal discreetly," he urged, and was again the drill sergeant. "Shoulder your pikes." The weapons followed the words with some show of decorum. "Comport your pikes." Again the evolution was carried out with some degree of accuracy. "Port your pikes." Here all followed the word of command fairly well with the exception of Garlinge's fellow-rustic, who simply strove to repeat the order already executed. Halfman turned upon him sharply. "Now, Clupp," he cried, "will you never learn the difference between port and comport?"