arrow in his hand.

"Nay, the saints know," said Hatch. "Here are a good two score

Christian souls that we have hunted out of house and holding, he

and I. He has paid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long,

mayhap, ere I pay mine. Sir Daniel driveth over-hard."

"This is a strange shaft," said the lad, looking at the arrow in

his hand.

"Ay, by my faith!" cried Bennet. "Black, and black-feathered.

Here is an ill-favoured shaft, by my sooth! for black, they say,

bodes burial. And here be words written. Wipe the blood away.

What read ye?"

"'Appulyaird fro Jon Amend-All,'" read Shelton. "What should this

betoken?"

"Nay, I like it not," returned the retainer, shaking his head.

"John Amend-All! Here is a rogue's name for those that be up in

the world! But why stand we here to make a mark? Take him by the

knees, good Master Shelton, while I lift him by the shoulders, and

let us lay him in his house. This will be a rare shog to poor Sir

Oliver; he will turn paper colour; he will pray like a windmill."

They took up the old archer, and carried him between them into his

house, where he had dwelt alone. And there they laid him on the

floor, out of regard for the mattress, and sought, as best they

might, to straighten and compose his limbs.

Appleyard's house was clean and bare. There was a bed, with a blue

cover, a cupboard, a great chest, a pair of joint-stools, a hinged

table in the chimney corner, and hung upon the wall the old

soldier's armoury of bows and defensive armour. Hatch began to

look about him curiously.

"Nick had money," he said. "He may have had three score pounds put

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