d; as
I always do when there's company." And with this Mrs. Score curtseyed
and retired.

Very early the next morning the active landlady and her bustling
attendant had prepared the ale and bacon for the Corporal and his three
converts, and had set a nice white cloth for the Captain's breakfast.
The young blacksmith did not eat with much satisfaction; but Mr. Bullock
and his friend betrayed no sign of discontent, except such as may be
consequent upon an evening's carouse. They walked very contentedly to be
registered before Doctor Dobbs, who was also justice of the peace, and
went in search of their slender bundles, and took leave of their few
acquaintances without much regret: for the gentlemen had been bred in
the workhouse, and had not, therefore, a large circle of friends.

It wanted only an hour of noon, and the noble Count had not descended.
The men were waiting for him, and spent much of the Queen's money
(earned by the sale of their bodies overnight) while thus expecting him.
Perhaps Mrs. Catherine expected him too, for she had offered many times
to run up--with my Lord's boots--with the hot water--to show Mr. Brock
the way; who sometimes condescended to officiate as barber. But on all
these occasions Mrs. Score had prevented her; not scolding, but with
much gentleness and smiling. At last, more gentle and smiling than ever,
she came downstairs and said, "Catherine darling, his honour the Count
is mighty hungry this morning, and vows he could pick the wing of a
fowl. Run down, child, to Farmer Brigg's and get one: pluck it
before you bring it, you know, and we will make his Lordship a pretty
breakfast."

Catherine took up her basket, and away she went by the back-yard,
through the stables. There she heard the little horse-boy whistling and
hissing after the manner of horseboys; and there she learned that Mrs.
Score had been inventing an ingenious story to have her out of the way.
The ostler said he was just going to lead the two horses round to the
door. The Corporal had been, and they were about to start on the instant
for Stratford.

The fact was that Count Gustavus Adolphus, far from wishing to pick the
wing of a fowl, had risen with a horror and loathing for everything in
the shape of food, and for any liquor stronger than small beer. Of this
he had drunk a cup, and said he should ride immediately to Stratford;
and when, on ordering his horses, he had asked politely of the landlady
"why the d---- SHE al