"So it be," interrupted the foreman of the malt-yard; "so it be, maaster, an' 'twas no more than us was a sayin' of as we coomed along here. Warn't us?" and again he appealed to his mates, who nodded stolidly. "'Tes sartin as our cat's got a tail, there's not one o' the lot o' ya as looks to be trusted loike." "Fellow!" fiercely demanded Howard, springing to his feet, "what do you mean?" [Sidenote: How to stop the King's coach.] "The wagon is a main heavy one," continued the man, unheeding the angry frowns of Howard and the rest, "and'll need a power of elbergrease afore't can be turned over; an' we can't be lendin' you fine gen'lemen that, along with our britches an' smocks. You'd best have the cart overturned by we first," and he pointed to his companions, "afore we start away, doant ya know?" "Certainly not," said Howard haughtily; "I hope we're not such idiots that we can't do carter's work." "Carter's work! Why! 'tes carter's work to be keepin' of his wheels from gettin' bottom uppermost. Noa, noa, ye'll never be but gimcrack soarts o' carters, take ya at ya best, an' if ye're for doing of the upset yerselves, there should be six o' ye to the work, my lord, or ye'll make a mess o't, be shure." "Then," said Howard, "it remains for you to supply us with the six needful pairs of breeches, and hobnailed shoes." "I'll swear for the britches, an' the shoes ye'll have to make stretch as far as they'll go." "And you," said Rumbold, turning to West and a group near. "Ay, we engage for the coachman, the postilion, and the horses," nodded West. "We're quite content, Master Hannibal, to leave you to bring down the Blackbird and the Chaffinch. You're a fine shot, and ought to do it at one priming, with such tools as you've got for it; tho' 'tis true you'll be two to one, and your birds have got some blood in them." "Ay, but their claws will be blunt," laughed Rumsey. "'Tis scarce probable, I mean, that they'll carry so much as a sword between them. They never do." "Still assistance should be at hand, and close too," said Sir Thomas Armstrong. [Sidenote: Lawrence Lee in the toils.] "Among the whole twoscore names written here," said Rumbold, drawing a large roll of parchment from his pocket, and unrolling it, he glanced over its contents, "there is not a steadier hand, nor a stouter heart, than my young neighbour's here of Nether Hall, Lawrence Lee." "Lawrence Lee!" echoed Walcot, casting an involuntary glance behind him ere the words had well left his lips. Could he be such a prey to strange fancies, or had he in very deed and truth heard a low gasping breath break from the wall? "You're certain he's to be trusted?" "I flatter myself," replied the maltster, a faint smile curling his lips, "that Master Lawrence Lee would think twice before he refused to comply with the slightest wish of Richard Rumbold." "Wasn't his father a Royalist?" said Howard.