was a stout fellow yonder in the wood-edge, and you and I stood

fair for him--as, by Saint George, we stand!--which, think ye,

would he choose?"

"You, for a good wager," answered Hatch.

"My surcoat to a leather belt, it would be you!" cried the old

archer. "Ye burned Grimstone, Bennet--they'll ne'er forgive you

that, my master. And as for me, I'll soon be in a good place, God

grant, and out of bow-shoot--ay, and cannon-shoot--of all their

malices. I am an old man, and draw fast to homeward, where the bed

is ready. But for you, Bennet, y' are to remain behind here at

your own peril, and if ye come to my years unhanged, the old true-

blue English spirit will be dead."

"Y' are the shrewishest old dolt in Tunstall Forest," returned

Hatch, visibly ruffled by these threats. "Get ye to your arms

before Sir Oliver come, and leave prating for one good while. An

ye had talked so much with Harry the Fift, his ears would ha' been

richer than his pocket."

An arrow sang in the air, like a huge hornet; it struck old

Appleyard between the shoulder-blades, and pierced him clean

through, and he fell forward on his face among the cabbages.

Hatch, with a broken cry, leapt into the air; then, stooping

double, he ran for the cover of the house. And in the meanwhile

Dick Shelton had dropped behind a lilac, and had his crossbow bent

and shouldered, covering the point of the forest.

Not a leaf stirred. The sheep were patiently browsing; the birds

had settled. But there lay the old man, with a cloth-yard arrow

standing in his back; and there were Hatch holding to the gable,

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