"One would ha' guessed she'd bin' expectin' of him," muttered Sheppard, still rubbing the mystification out of his eyes, while he preceded his guest to the inn parlour, "and him a moighty sort of a favourite too. Now, there's a many that comes along, as she thinks naught o' puttin' off with chub; nasty fork-boned watery skelintons o' things. But my foine old gentleman here, must be havin' his trout, and his curtseys, and down bobbins into the bargain." And Master Sheppard, who, as luck would have it, had been a bit put about all day with one thing and another, having first rather sulkily flicked a few stray crumbs with his snow-white apron from the bright oaken table to the floor, proceeded to lay the cloth. "Any news stirring in these parts?" asked the guest in careless tones, as he threw himself comfortably among the cushions of a settle drawn up in the deep bay of the window looking upon the road. [Sidenote: A surly host.] Now there was a good deal of news stirring; but Sheppard, contrary to his garrulous wont, seemed in no mood to impart it; and he only replied by a shrug of his lean shoulders, and a shake of the head, casting at the same time uneasy and sheepish glances towards a stout broad-shouldered man, seated in the embrasure of a distant window smoking an enormous Dutch pipe, whose hat was drawn low down over his eyes, which were apparently absorbed in gloomy contemplation of the huge jack of ale on the table before him. [Sidenote: Meaning words.] "Be you from nor'ards, Master Traveller?" said Sheppard to the new-comer, as if in haste to turn the current of conversation. "Cambridge," answered the guest, craning his neck towards the window, as if he expected somebody. "Eh! be you, now?" said Sheppard, rousing up a little, and a gleam of intelligence breaking into his eyes. "Then I doubt you can tell me if 'tis true that May Queen has beat Satan by ten paces, as the talk goes she has?" "Quite true." "An' what," gleefully nodded Sheppard, "what's your notions over Flatfoot?" "Oh! safe to win." "The king's own horse, an't he?" The traveller nodded. "Maybe as you've a score on her yourself?" said Sheppard with a knowing wink. "Rather a heavy one. Yes," replied the traveller, suppressing a faint sigh. "Well, well," consolingly said Sheppard. "An' you'll make a potful, depend upon't. Trust Old Rowley for tellin' good horseflesh from carrion." "Ay. As he's able to tell honest subjects from crop-eared knaves," laughed the stranger, drawing close up to the table, and pouring out a bumper of ruby red wine from the tall silver-lipped flagon which Mistress Sheppard had just brought in, and placed at his elbow. "Shall we drink his health, friend?" he added, brimming another glass, and pushing it toward Sheppard.