man, of most massive and robust build, with

an arching chest and extraordinary breadth of shoulder. his

shaven face was as brown as a hazel-nut, tanned and dried by the

weather, with harsh, well-marked features, which were not

improved by a long white scar which stretched from the corner of

his left nostril to the angle of the jaw. his eyes were bright

and searching, with something of menace and of authority in their

quick glitter, and his mouth was firm-set and hard, as befitted

one who was wont to set his face against danger. a straight

sword by his side and a painted long-bow jutting over his

shoulder proclaimed his profession, while his scarred brigandine

of chain-mail and his dinted steel cap showed that he was no

holiday soldier, but one who was even now fresh from the wars. a

white surcoat with the lion of st. george in red upon the centre

covered his broad breast, while a sprig of new-plucked broom at

the side of his head-gear gave a touch of gayety and grace to his

grim, war-worn equipment.

"ha!" he cried, blinking like an owl in the sudden glare. "good

even to you, comrades! hola! a woman, by my soul!" and in an

instant he had clipped dame eliza round the waist and was kissing

her violently. his eye happening to wander upon the maid,

however, he instantly abandoned the mistress and danced off after

the other, who scurried in confusion up one of the ladders, and

dropped the heavy trap-door upon her pursuer. he then turned

back and saluted the landlady once more with the utmost relish

and satisfaction.

"la petite is frightened," said he. "ah, c'est l'amour, l'amour!

curse this trick of french, which will stick to my throat. i

must wash it out with some good english ale. by my hilt!

camarades, there is no drop of french blood in my body, and i am

a true english bowman, samkin aylward by name; and i tell you,

mes amis, that it warms my very heart-roots to set my feet on the

dear old land once more. when i came off the galley at hythe,

this very day, i down on my bones, and i kissed the good brown

earth, as i kiss thee now, ma belle, for it was eight long years

since i had seen it. the very smell of it seemed life to me.

but where are my six rascals? hola, there! en avant!"

at the order, six men, dressed as common drudges, marched

solemnly into the room, each bearing a huge bundle upon his head.

they formed in military line, while the soldier stood in front of

them with stern eyes, checking off their several packages.

"number one--a french feather-bed with the two counter-panes of

white sandell," said he.

"here, worthy sir," answered the first of the bearers, laying a

great package down in the corner.

"number two--seven ells of red turkey cloth and nine ells of

cloth of gold. put it down by the other. good dame, i prythee

give each of these men a bottrine of wine or a jack of ale.

three-a full piece of white genoan velvet with twelve ells of

purple silk. thou rascal, there is dirt on the hem! thou hast

brushed it against some wall, coquin!"

"not i, most worthy sir," cried the carrier, shrinking away from

the fierce eyes of the bowman.

"i say yes, dog! by the three kings! i have seen a man gasp out

his last breath for less. had you gone through the pain and

unease that i have done to earn these things you would be at more

care. i swear by my ten finger-bones that there is not one of

them that hath not cost its weight in french blood! four--an

incense-boat, a ewer of silver, a gold buckle and a cope worked

in pearls. i found them, camarades, at the church of st. denis

in the harrying of narbonne, and i took them away with me lest

they fall into the hands of the wicked. five--a cloak of fur

turned up with minever, a gold goblet with stand and cover, and a

box of rose-colored sugar. see that you lay them together. six-

-a box of monies, three pounds of limousine gold-work, a pair of

boots, silver tagged, and, lastly, a store of naping linen. so,

the tally is complete! here is a groat apiece, and you may go."

"go whither, worthy sir?" asked one of the carriers.

"whither? to the devil if ye will. what is it to me? now, ma

belle, to supper. a pair of cold capons, a mortress of brawn, or

what you will, with a flask or two of the right gascony. i have

crowns in my pouch, my sweet, and i mean to spend them. bring in

wine while the food is dressing. buvons my brave lads; you shall

each empty a stoup with me."

here was an offer which the company in an english inn at that or

any other date are slow to refuse. the flagons were re-gathered

and came back with the white foam dripping over their edges. two

of the woodmen and three of the laborers drank their portions off

hurriedly and trooped off together, for their homes were distant

and the hour late. the others, however, drew closer, leavi