Sir Gilbert aimed a fierce blow at Peter’s head, which that philosopher avoided skilfully, and disappeared among the horses’ legs. “Have you aught to say to me, Sir Gilbert Falstaff, before I carry your son away with me? Time is short; and all the keepers and constables of the county may be upon us at any moment.” “Nothing, Sir Thomas--but--ahem!--a trifling matter. The horse that carries my son--being a steed of great value--albeit I shall never cease to feel bounden by your inconceivable kindness--yet, as the said horse--I am a poor knight, Sir Thomas, as you know--as it will be used henceforth in your service--seeing that Jack is to have the honour of being one of your household--I would merely say that----” Mowbray cut him short by throwing two pieces of gold in the mud at his feet with a contemptuous oath. “There’s for your horse. Keep from the heels of mine. There is a certain kind of man he has a taste for kicking. Now, Jack! art ready? The sooner thou art out of this the better for thee. The air here is not good for thee, lad.” “All ready, Sir. Good bye, again, mother. God bless thee.” “God mend thee, my boy.” “Good bye, father!” Sir Gilbert did not hear the parting salute of his son. He was busy picking up something in the mud--which he carefully pocketed, dirt and all. Mowbray waved a gay farewell to Lady Alice. The poor lady had been playing listlessly with a withered rose-bud which she had stuck in her girdle, and forgotten in the day’s troubles. She let it fall. Maître Jean leaped from his horse and picked up the treasure, pressed it to his lips, stuck it into a “love knot on the greter end of hys hoode,” and vaulted again into his saddle with an air of triumph. This was very kind of Maître Jean, for it made Lady Alice smile. And the poor mother stood in need of some such diversion, however passing. “Now, lads,” said Mowbray. “Whip and spur with a vengeance. No rest this side of Canterbury. And for London, ho!” “For London, ho!” shouted Jack Falstaff, with a beaming face, looking more like a jovial young prince riding to tournament, than a rescued purloiner of animal food flying the constable. And away they galloped. “Jean,” said Mowbray, as they rode up the chase, “do you intend to chronicle to-day’s exploits among your _nobles aventures et faits d’armes pour encourager les preux en bien faisant?_” “_Parbleu!_ Why not? I have put a good face on many a worse, before now.” That night, Lady Alice Falstaff begged a shelter with her good gossip Dame Adlyn, and never entered Falstaff Castle again. That night, also, there was sore tribulation in the hovel of a ploughman on the Falstaff estate. Little Peter was missing. IV. OF JACK FALSTAFF’S COSTING TO LONDON. HOW HE SAW LIFE THERE, AND HOW HE BROKE SKOGAN’S HEAD AT THE COURT GATE.