t'other, since ever wool grew to sheep's backs. They say there was
always a middlin' few Pharisees to be seen on the Marsh. Impident as
rabbits, they was. They'd dance on the nakid roads in the nakid daytime;
they'd flash their liddle green lights along the diks, comin' an' goin',
like honest smugglers. Yes, an' times they'd lock the church doors
against parson an' clerk of Sundays.'

'That 'ud be smugglers layin' in the lace or the brandy till they could
run it out o' the Marsh. I've told my woman so,' said Hobden.

'I'll lay she didn't belieft it, then--not if she was a Whitgift. A
won'erful choice place for Pharisees, the Marsh, by all accounts, till
Queen Bess's father he come in with his Reformatories.'

'Would that be a Act of Parliament like?' Hobden asked.

'Sure-ly. Can't do nothing in Old England without Act, Warrant an'
Summons. He got his Act allowed him, an', they say, Queen Bess's father
he used the parish churches something shameful. Justabout tore the
gizzards out of I dunnamany. Some folk in England they held with 'en;
but some they saw it different, an' it eended in 'em takin' sides an'
burnin' each other no bounds, accordin' which side was top, time bein'.
That tarrified the Pharisees: for Goodwill among Flesh an' Blood is meat
an' drink to 'em, an' ill-will is poison.'

'Same as bees,' said the Bee Boy. 'Bees won't stay by a house where
there's hating.'

'True,' said Tom. 'This Reformatories tarrified the Pharisees same as
the reaper goin' round a last stand o' wheat tarrifies rabbits. They
packed into the Marsh from all parts, and they says, "Fair or foul, we
must flit out o' this, for Merry England's done with, an' we're reckoned
among the Images."'

'Did they _all_ see it that way?' said Hobden.

'All but one that was called Robin--if you've heard of him. What are you
laughin' at?' Tom turned to Dan. 'The Pharisees's trouble didn't tech
Robin, because he'd cleaved middlin' close to people, like. No more he
never meant to go out of Old England--not he; so he was sent messagin'
for help among Flesh an' Blood. But Flesh an' Blood must always think of
their own concerns, an' Robin couldn't get _through_ at 'em, ye see.
They thought it was tide-echoes off the Marsh.'

'What did you--what did the fai--Pharisees want?' Una asked.

'A boat, to be sure. Their liddle wings could no more cross Channel than
so many tired butterflies. A boat an' a crew they desired to sail 'em
over to France, wher