e worthies, pausing here
and there at the door of some citizen that presented a tempting
surface. One of their number would paint upon it the ominous red
cross, whilst another who had skill enough (for writing was not the
accomplishment of every citizen even then) would add in staring
white letters the legend, "Lord, have mercy upon us!"

It was a brutal jest at such a time, when the dread visitor had
actually appeared as it were in their midst, and all sober men were
in fear of what might betide, and of the methods already spoken of
for the suppression of the distemper. But it was its very
wickedness which gave it its charm in the opinion of the
perpetrators, and as they went from street to street, Frederick
suddenly exclaimed:

"Ha! we are close to Allhallowes. Let us adorn the door of the old
madwoman, Lady Scrope. They say she lives quite alone, and that her
servants come in the morning and leave at night. Sure they will
none of them have courage to pass the threshold when that sign
adorns it, and the old hag will have to come forth herself to seek
them. An excellent joke! I will watch the house, and give her a
kiss as she comes forth."

Whereupon the whole crew burst into shouts of drunken laughter, and
made a rush to the door, which stood flush in a grim-looking wall
just beneath the shadow of the church of Allhallowes the Less.

Frederick had the paint pot in his hand, and he traced a fine red
cross upon the door, all the while making his ribald jests upon the
old woman within, he and his companions alike, far too drunk with
wine and unholy mirth to have eyes or ears for what was happening
close beside them. They did not hear the sound of an opening window
just above them. They did not see a nightcapped head poked forth,
the great frilled cap surrounding a small, wizened, but
keenly-courageous face, in which the eyes were glittering like
points of fire.

None of them saw this. None of them heeded, and the head was for a
moment silently withdrawn. Then it was again cautiously protruded,
and the next minute there descended on the head of Frederick a
black hot mass of tar and bitumen. It scalded his face, it blinded
his eyes. It choked and almost poisoned him by its vaporous
pungency. It matted itself in his voluminous periwig, and plastered
it down to his shoulders; it clotted his lace frills, and ran in
filthy rivulets down his smart clothes. In a word, it rendered him
in a moment a disgusting and helpless