en. Taking off his hat he
prayed:

"Thou just God, do Thou judge between my King and myself. Thou knowest
that I have striven as an honest gentleman to do right before all men.
When I have seen my sin, oh, Lord, I have repented! Now I have come upon
perilous times, the gins are set for my feet. Oh, Lord, establish me in
true strength! Not for my sake do I ask that Thou wilt be with me and
Thy wisdom comfort me, but for the sake of my good children. Wilt Thou
spare my life in these troubles until they be well formed; till the lad
have the bones of a man, and the girl the wise thought of a woman--for
she hath no mother to shield and teach her. And if this be a wrong
prayer, my God, forgive it: for I am but a blundering squire, whose
tongue tells lamely what his heart feels."

His head was bowed over his horse's neck, his face turned to the cross,
his eyes were shut, and he did not notice the strange and grotesque
figure that suddenly appeared from among the low bushes by the fen near
by.

It was an odd creature perched upon stilts; one of those persons called
the stilt-walkers. They were no friends of the King, nor of the Earl of
Lindsey, nor of my Lord Rippingdale, for the draining of these fens
took from them their means of living. They were messengers, postmen and
carriers across the wide stretch of country from Spilsby, even down to
the river Witham, and from Boston Deep down to Market Deeping and over
to the sea. Since these fens were drained one might travel from Market
Deeping to the Wolds without wetting a foot.

"Aw'll trooble thee a moment, maister," said the peasant. "A
stilt-walker beant nowt i' the woorld. Howsome'er, aw've a worrd to
speak i' thy ear."

Enderby reined in his horse, and with a nod of complaisance (for he was
a man ever kind to the poor, and patient with those who fared ill in the
world) he waited for the other to speak.

"Thoo'rt the great Enderby of Enderby, maister," said the peasant,
ducking his head and then putting on his cap; "aw've known thee sin tha
wast no bigger nor a bit grass'opper i' the field. Wilt tha ride long,
Sir John Enderby, and aw'll walk aside thee, ma grey nag with thy
sorrel." He glanced down humorously at his own long wooden legs.

Enderby turned his horse round and proceeded on his way slowly, the old
man striding along beside him like a stork.

"Why do you dub me Knight?" he asked, his eyes searching the face of the
old man.

"Why shouldna aw call thee K