"Bring me my salts, Susan, and don’t snivel," said the mother. "For Bartley to be up in arms like this here--why, I never will believe it! And me a bailiff’s daughter, as everybody knows, and him with the blood of the Saunders family in his veins. They’ve harried him into it along of his pluck and courage; but it shan’t be if I can put my bosom between him and bloodshed. Bartley to be struck and assaulted by a warrener, and a common man at that! Wasn’t it enough thicky, empty-headed wench at Coombeshead chose that yellow-haired Bowden, when she might have had a Crocker? And now, if you please, the ruffian, not content with getting the girl, wants to fight my boy!" "It’s my duty to tell you, ma’am, that your son’s quite as set on it as t’other," declared Mr. Moses. "No doubt; and a good whipping he’d give the man if it came to it; but it mustn’t come to it. We’re in a Christian land, and this firebrand, that’s crept among us with his wicked rhymes, ought to be taken up and led behind the cart-tail and flogged out of the parish." "I’m glad you take such a high, womanly view," said the shoemaker; "because you’m another on our side, and will be a tower of strength. They are to fight in about three weeks’ time--afore Christmas. That is, if we, on the side of law and order--namely, his reverence, and me, and you, and Ernest Maunder, can’t prevent it. I’m sorry to say everybody else wants to see them fight--even Sir Guy--more shame to him!" "I’ll have the place by the ears rather than it should happen," said Mrs. Crocker. "I’ll have Bartley took up rather than he should have his face touched by that--that rabbit-catching good-for-nought up to Ditsworthy. Why, I’ll even go up there myself and talk to Elias Bowden. This thing shan’t be--not if a determined woman can prevent it." Mr. Moses retired comforted in some sort, for he felt that Mrs. Crocker was probably stronger than the policeman and the vicar put together. But meantime, on the other side, matters developed steadily. Shillabeer and ’Frosty-faced Fogo’ had taken charge of Bartley Crocker, and he prepared for battle with the benefit of all their immense experience. From the first, rumours of interference and interruption were rife; but Fogo treated them with disdain. "Leave all that to me," he said. "I’ve been evading the ’blues’ and the ’beaks’ ever since I came to man’s estate, and if I can’t hoodwink you simple bumpkins--parsons and all--well, I’ll pay the stakes myself." For stakes there were, and Mr. Fogo, who insisted on seeing all things done decently and in order, arranged that five pounds a side should be posted to bind the match and five pounds more paid in the day before the battle. Mr. Bowden found the money for David, and no less a worthy than Sir Guy Flamank himself, having first commanded terrific oaths of secrecy from Mr. Fogo and Mr. Shillabeer, produced ten pounds for Bartley Crocker. He was young and had never seen a fight.